Much More Than Planned
by disneylove89
Summary: This is the prequel to my first fan fiction 'A Change In Me.' This story begins before the movie starts, showing the lives of the Beast and Belle before transitioning into the movie up until the wolf chase with extended and original scenes (at least it will when all is said and done!). As always, I love reading reviews, so let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

_As promised, here's the first chapter to the prequel of the story _A Change in Me! _This chapter starts off rather like the movie does, with the prince being cursed by the Enchantress, but I promise there is going to be plenty of back story for both the Beast and Belle before I get to the meat of the movie. Happy reading!_

* * *

"No, no PLEASE! I'm sorry!" he cried miserably, sinking to his knees at the feet of this impossible creature. The creature—the woman—stared silently down at him as he begged for his life, bathed in light and held above the ground by some strange wind. He had no idea that the ugly old beggar woman who asked for shelter moments ago was in truth this beautiful enchantress who now looked at him with such contempt. Had he known, the Prince would have admitted her at once. But it was too late for that now; he had angered the Enchantress and he knew that her wrath was something not even a prince could escape from.

"I have watched you grow, my young Prince, and you have shown yourself to be nothing but cruel and heartless. You have done horrible things you have shown no remorse for, and I have decided to intervene before you cause more harm," the Enchantress said to him, her beautiful voice echoing around him in anger. "Had you allowed me entrance into your castle, I would have found a way to forgive your past wrongdoings, for you would have shown that there was some goodness in you after all. But now I can see that there is no love in your heart to help you grow beyond your cruelty. You are a beastly human, so it is a Beast you will become."

He began to shake with fear; he had no idea what the Enchantress had in store for him, but he was certain that she meant no kindness. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his decisions when punishing his subjects and servants, but he was convinced it was nothing those lowly creatures did not deserve. But with his fate hanging in such a delicate balance at the hands of this meddlesome Enchantress, perhaps he could try and make her change her mind. "Please," he began, angry that his voice was quivering in fear. A prince should not be afraid, not even a prince as young as himself. "I promise I can change. I. . ."

"It is too late," the Enchantress interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him. "If I do not do something now, you will grow to harm yourself and your subjects through your pride and cruelty." He opened his mouth to argue, but found that he voice caught in his throat as white hot pain shot through his spine. He crumpled, his arms convulsing towards his chest as the pain spread through his limbs. Unable to bear it any longer, he cried out in pain. But the voice that came from him was not his own; it was deeper than any voice he was capable of creating. It was not the more developed voice of a man, but a deeper, thicker version of his own voice, impossible though it seemed.

"What. . . what have you done?" he gasped, his eyes shut against the pain still ebbing through his body.

"You have become the Beast you truly are," he heard the Enchantress reply coldly. "And you shall have no human company to consol you."

"What?" he demanded, his new voice startling him still.

"Your servants will remain with you, but not as humans," the Enchantress repeated.

"I don't understand," he said, panting with pain still but at last able to look up at the Enchantress. "What have you done?"

"Look upon your own hands, my Prince." He did as she bid and screamed when he saw that instead of pale skinned, human hands he now saw massive paws covered in fur and tipped with wicked looking claws. He trailed these ugly paws down his body and found that he was entirely covered in fur, that his body was no longer that of a human. _No, no this can't be_! he screamed inside his head, unable to stand hearing the voice of the animal he had become now. He was a monster now, thanks to this wicked Enchantress. He collapsed again at the feet of the Enchantress, unwilling to cry but unable to stop the whimper that escaped his new lips. _Why_ had she done this to him?

"This rose shall remain in your castle," the Enchantress continued speaking, holding up the wretched rose she had tried to bribe him with just moments ago. He wanted to block her out, hurt her, claw at her with his new paws, but despair weakened him and left him unable to do anything but kneel pitifully at her feet. "It will bloom until your twenty-first year. If you can learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time the last petal falls, the spell shall be broken. If you cannot, you shall remain a Beast for all time, doomed to live alone with your loveless heart."

He whimpered again and hung his head, trying to imagine what a lifetime would feel like as this _thing_. The Enchantress had charged him with an impossible task; it would be kinder if she simply killed him now rather than torture him for ten years with false hope.

"I shall also give you this mirror," the Enchantress continued and, unless he was mistaken, he heard a kinder tone in her voice now. "This mirror will become your window to the outside world." He nodded, but said nothing. Was this mirror her way of taking pity on him? He had no wish for this cruel creature's pity, but couldn't find the courage to say so. "Remember this night and what I have said, my prince. If you do not find a way to change your heart, you shall forevermore remain a Beast."

A blinding light consumed the Enchantress, forcing him to look away. When the light faded, he was able to turn back to the wicked creature who dared to do such things to him. But she was gone.

"No! Come back and undo this!" he hollered, astonished at how his new, deeper voice echoed against the stone walls behind him. Yet nothing happened, and he was still this awful creature, and he was alone.

Or perhaps not so alone; behind the doors where the Enchantress had cursed him, he heard sorrowful wails of his servants inside. It made him furious to hear them cry. _Nothing_ they felt could possibly measure to the pain the Enchantress caused him to suffer.

He whirled to face the closed doors to his castle, his new paws completely filling the massive door handles, prepared to _make_ his servants cease their foolish weeping. But when he threw the doors open, with an incredible force that surprised himself, he found no servants to punish. Instead, there were _objects_ scattered at his feet. Teapots and teacups, silver and plate ware, cups and candlesticks, and all were _moving_.

"What is this?" he demanded as if the Enchantress were still here to answer him. Instead, a portly porcelain teapot hopped towards him and looked up at him as best it could from the ground.

"I—I don't know. . .Master? Can that be you? What has happened?" it said, the terror and confusion clear in its voice. He felt his new ears perk up as he realized that this voice was familiar to him.

"Mrs. Potts?" No, it was impossible that this teapot should be the woman who had taken care of him since his mother died several years earlier. He couldn't believe this; it had to be a horrible nightmare. Unable to withstand the miserable faces of his transformed servants, he fled to his rooms in the West Wing.

_No, no, NO!_ he fumed as he stumbled down the rich carpets that covered the halls of his castle. _How could this happen to me? _His massive paws that had replaced his feet caught against the edges of the carpets and against themselves, causing him to trip and stumble like a creature just learning to walk. He realized as he forced his new body further that it would be easier to simply walk on all fours, but he would not give the Enchantress the satisfaction of seeing him succumb to his beastly fate so soon. _But this can't be possible_, he reasoned. _I'll wake up tomorrow and everything will be just as it was_.

Just as he started to convince himself that this all was just his imagination, he passed the mirror that hung in the hall before the doors of his rooms. He glanced at it as he passed, as he often did though he was too short to see much else except for his face, but stopped when he noticed the reflection it showed him. Instead of the rather dashing face of an eleven year old prince, the mirror now showed him the image of some sort of furry animal, standing much taller than a boy of eleven could ever dream of. This animal had tawny brown fur covering a face that seemed unlike any he had ever seen before, with two horns curled in front of its ears and wicked-looking fangs protruding from his bottom jaw over his top lip. He raised a hand to the mirror's surface, curious that it should play such tricks on his eyes, only to realize that the mirror showed him his own image. His hand that reached towards the mirror's surface was the paw of the monster reflected back at him. The fur was his own, the horns were his: he _was_ this monster.

With a scream of rage that sounded like the howl of a wounded animal, he struck the mirror that showed him such awful truths, shattering its surface and distorting the animal's image further. He bolted as fast as he could manage to the doors of his rooms, searching for some sort of sanctuary from this nightmare. How could this wicked Enchantress do such a thing to him? What had he done to deserve this?

The sanctuary he had hoped for was only another torment for him as he realized that the things around him were meant for a prince, and he was no longer that prince. Furious and brokenhearted, he swiped at the furniture that surrounded him, using his new and impressive strength to destroy sturdy wardrobes and handsome carpets. With a particular ferocity, he dragged his claws against a portrait that showed him a face that was no longer his own, shredding the painting into ribbons. When he made his way at last towards the great windows that led out to the balcony beyond his rooms, he paused in his ferocious movements, surprised into stopping as he noticed something new that stood before the doorway.

A small table, intricately carved with gargoyles, stood now before the glass doors that led towards the balcony. It was bare except for two objects, the most prominent of which was a glowing red rose protected underneath a delicate bell jar. Upon closer inspection, he could see that the rose was floating several inches above the surface of the table.

_This must be that same cursed rose_, he realized. _What did she say? The rose will bloom until my twenty-first year._ That was a long time to endure this curse. Perhaps he could break it before then, though. Picking up the second object on the table, careful not to drop the mirror in his clumsy paws, he lifted the mirror to his disgusting new face. Doing his best to ignore the image he saw, and feeling rather foolish, he said: "Show me the one who will break this spell."

Nothing happened.

Resisting the temptation to hurl the useless mirror across the room, he tried something else. "Show me my castle." This time, the mirror glowed an eerie green color, so bright he had to close his eyes against it for a moment. When the brightness subsided, he saw that the mirror's image had changed. Instead of taunting him with his own awful image, he saw instead his grand castle. Except that it, too, had changed. No longer was it made of the beautiful, bright stone that seemed to glimmer whenever the sunlight hit it. Now it was dark, foreboding, indeed even a bit frightening to look at. Upon closer examination of the mirror's image, he could see that the carefully carved cherubs and angels that guarded the castle had been turned into hideous gargoyles, adding to his sense of foreboding. His mother's castle had been ruined, turned into a terrible prison fit only for a monster. He returned the mirror to its place on the small table and went onto the balcony to see if the mirror's image showed the truth.

Leaning on the balcony's low wall, he could see that the castle walls had indeed been darkened and there were now gargoyles guarding it rather than the beautiful angels and statues there had been before. The lands, too, had altered. No longer were there sweeping fields of green, but unkempt grasses and deserted walkways. A Beast did not deserve the beauty that had been this castle, he realized, and the thought despaired him. If the Enchantress had been so thorough in her spells, perhaps even she did not have hope that he could break it.

Ten years to break this spell. Ten years before he would remain like this for all time. He wasn't sure he could last a month as this creature, let alone ten years. And if the mirror could not show him who it was who would break this spell. . . well there really was no hope, was there? Who could ever learn to love a Beast?


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry this chapter took so long, but I had a massive case of writer's block on top of the stress of starting a new job! Hope it was worth the wait!_

* * *

"Maman!" Belle screamed, nearly tripping as she threw herself from her bed and into the hallway. "Maman!" Her hurried footsteps down the dark hall were abruptly halted as she ran into someone.

"Hush, my Belle," her Papa said, wrapping his arms around her. "Tell me what's wrong."

"No, I need Maman," she protested and began weeping.

"You know she needs her rest," Papa told her gently, stroking her sleep-tousled hair.

"It's all right, Maurice," her mother's voice echoed from the slightly open door at the end of the hall. "Come here, my darling."

Belle went into her parents' bedroom, feeling now that perhaps her nightmare wasn't as bad as she first thought, and that a nine year old girl was too old to be running to her mother for such things. Nine was practically an adult as far as Belle was concerned, but that dream had been _particularly _awful. When she saw her mother reclined in bed, all of her concern went from her head and she crawled beneath the covers to snuggle up beside her mother.

"What's wrong, my dearest?" her mother asked, putting her arm around Belle's shoulders and holding her so closely that Belle could hear her heartbeat.

"I had a nightmare, Maman. A giant shadow had locked me away somewhere dark and cold," she confessed, shivering with the memory. "I didn't know where I was, and I couldn't escape." It sounded so simple when she said it aloud, but the dream had terrified her more than any nightmare she ever had before. The shadow was massive, looming over her as if it would never let her go. She wasn't sure that it would hurt her, but the oppressive presence of the shadow was more than she could bear.

"Well, it's all right now, isn't it? You're safe here in my arms, my love. You know your Papa and I will always protect you, don't you?" Belle nodded though by now she knew that her parents could not protect her from _everything_; the teasing of other children or tumbling down the stairs was beyond their control, of course. But Belle was still child enough to find comfort in the idea of her parents protecting her always.

"Shall I tell you a story to take your mind off your dreams?" Maman asked and Belle nodded eagerly, cuddling even closer to her mother's warmth. Maman always knew just what to do to chase Belle's dreams away. She and Belle would read and tell stories to each other for hours that felt no more than mere minutes, exploring new worlds through their stories.

"May I join you?" Papa asked from where he had been standing by the doorway. "I love a good story." Belle patted the bed beside her and sighed in content as she was comfortably surrounded by her parents warmth. Her mother began to tell her a beautiful fairy tale, one of Belle's favorites, and Belle felt her nightmare slip from her mind. A good story, whether from her books or one devised by her mother, was capable of banishing the difficulties of the worst day or a nightmare as horrible as the one that haunted Belle that night.

Soon, though, her mother began to cough, halting the story as she fought for breath. Belle scooted a few inches away, giving her mother space as she had been taught to do when Maman had such attacks. The horrible cough and weakness had filled the better part of Belle's eighth year and now almost all of her ninth, so Belle had plenty of practice in what to do during these horrible coughs. But Belle could never get used to them.

Papa got Maman a glass of water and helped her drink it, which eased the cough, but Belle knew her mother would be unable to go on with the story.

Once her mother settled back down onto her pillow and began to breathe easier, Belle wrapped her tiny arm as best she could around her mother and reached up to play with her light brown hair. Maman loved to have her hair played with; Belle would often watch Papa brush it out for Maman at night. Her mother smiled, clearly exhausted by the fit of coughing, gently tugged once at Belle's own darker locks. Belle snuggled closer beside her mother, drawing Papa's hand over her as well, and took up the story where her mother had left off, continuing the familiar tale easily.

Before Belle could finish, her mother drifted off to sleep beside her and Belle felt warmed that she might make her mother so comfortable. The illness did not let her sleep much, Belle knew, so she was proud that she might help her Maman sleep. It made her feel grown up in the way she was able to do something like that for her mother. Belle glanced over at her father and smiled when she noticed that he, too, fell asleep to her story. She snuggled down under the arm of her father and onto the shoulder of her mother and it was like this, encompassed in the warmth and love between Papa and Maman, that Belle followed her parents into comfortable slumber.

* * *

Belle woke to the sensation of being held above the ground and opened her eyes to realize her father was carrying her out of her parents' room.

"Papa?" she asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily. The sun just barely coming up, so why was Papa moving her? Had she been taking up too much of the bed?

"Hush, my Belle," Papa replied and Belle noticed that his voice cracked and his eyes were red. She began to grow frightened at the sight of her father crying; Papa never cried, at least not without a good reason.

"What's wrong, Papa?" she said, struggling to sit up in her father's arms. Papa put her safely on her feet and knelt down in front of her. Papa was rather short, but she was tinier still, even for a nine year old, and they were eye to eye.

"Belle. . .Belle, you must be brave now. Your Maman. . ." he broke off and looked away for a moment. Belle waited, but a feeling of dread began to creep into her heart. "She was sick for so long, you know," Papa continued and Belle watched silently as tears streamed down his face. "She's happy now, I hope. Happy to not be ill."

"Maman is gone," Belle realized and was surprised to hear herself say those awful words so calmly. "Maman." Without a thought, Belle started back to her mother's room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Papa reach out to stop her, but she ignored him. She walked resolutely to the doorway of her parents' room, but found she could go no further. She could see her mother lying on the bed, eyes closed, looking just like she was sleeping. "Maman?" she called, but did not dare to go in further. Surely if her mother was dead she wouldn't look so very much like herself. Papa must be lying, she reasoned, except that he never lied to her. But it was her own fear at entering the room that confirmed what she did not want to believe.

"Maman," Belle whispered and sunk to the floor, still staring at her mother's body. Though she was only nine years old, and though her parents had done their best to keep the severity of it hidden from her, Belle was aware how very sick her mother had been. Her mother was a tutor, not usually a position for a woman, but she visibly enjoyed her work and Belle was so very proud of her clever Maman. So when the day came that her mother decided she was no longer able to teach, Belle knew that something was very wrong with her mother. Belle also knew that the doctors Papa brought could not help her. But Belle, though she did not consider herself to be unintelligent, somehow never truly realized that all this meant her mother would die.

"Belle, come away," she heard her father say. She knew she should do as he said, but his voice seemed worlds away and held no power for her. All she could do was stare at her mother, so beautiful it was impossible for her to be no longer inside her own body. Belle kept waiting to see her mother turn in her sleep, to open her hazel eyes and smile at Belle as she so often did, or just to see her breathe. But none of that happened and Belle was left waiting.

Hands at her shoulders bid her to stand and she followed their direction even though her legs seemed as far away as her father's voice had been. She was turned and led to her own room, but Belle still saw only her mother lying in her bed, asleep now forever.

"Is the girl all right?" a voice that was not her father's asked. Belle didn't care who was speaking, or what they spoke about, but neither was she able to block out the words. So she merely listened.

"She's just a bit shocked," Papa replied to the man Belle did not know and could not see outside her still open door. "We both are. We were all asleep and when I woke. . . she was. . ."

"Go downstairs," the unknown man said. "Hubert and I will take care of it." The name Hubert was unknown to Belle; these must be the men to take Maman. . .

The thought was too awful, so with some effort Belle turned her mind to a comfortable numbness, choosing to ignore what was happening. She retreated to a small nook between her bookcase and the wall, curled up as tightly as she could manage, and fell asleep.

* * *

"Belle? Belle, you must eat something," Papa prodded. Belle tried, truly she did, but she couldn't bear to do anything more than move her food around her plate with her fork. Maman's funeral had been several days ago, thanks to the soft ground of a very mild winter, but Belle still could not dismiss the image of her mother being shut away in a box. It was too horrible, too final. Belle felt the sorrow at her mother's loss eat at her inside until she felt completely hollow and Belle had not yet been able to cry.

Everyone at the funeral said that it was a shame that Belle had to lose her mother. But Belle didn't lose her; she couldn't go on some epic quest to find her mother, as the heroes in Belle's books did to find great treasures. Maman was _gone_ not lost, and nothing she could do would change that.

One small consolation was that her mother seemed to be so very well loved by her students; many of the children convinced their wealthy parents to let them attend the simple affair, and nearly all of them came up to Belle and her father to offer their condolences. Belle was overwhelmed by so many faces staring down at her, mournfully recalling her mother's kindness and intelligence. Belle had been proud of Maman for doing what she loved although a female tutor was so uncommon, but Belle never imagined how grateful her students were for what her mother did.

"Belle?" Papa came to her and knelt beside her chair, tucking a strand of hair back into its place. Belle did her best to give him her attention, enough to notice how very tired her Papa seemed, but her mind was still back with her mother in her box. "You're such a brave little girl. But you've been worrying your Papa."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled ashamedly. She didn't want to make her father worry, not on top of everything else they were going through, but she wasn't sure how to fix what seemed to be wrong.

"You've been so quiet, keeping to yourself. I know you miss your Maman, but you haven't even read your books since. . . What can I do for you, my Belle?" Papa took her hands in his and looked up at her earnestly.

"Nothing, Papa. May I be excused?" He nodded and moved to let her up. Belle was glad to escape the sadness she saw in her father's eyes; it was a sadness that mirrored her own and she hated to think her Papa was suffering so badly. Why did Maman have to die?

Belle climbed the stairs to the second floor of their small apartment and closed the door to her room quietly. She sat on the edge of her bed and gazed at the piles of books that lay before her untouched. Just a few weeks ago Belle couldn't wait to delve through her books, absorbing all she could from what those pages had to offer. Many of them were second-hand books, battered at the edges with torn and folded pages, but Belle treasured them above all else. It was rare that Belle would be seen without a book nearby, but as Belle sat on her bed that afternoon, she realized that her books which had been so carefully and lovingly arranged now had no interest for her.

Belle rose to look out the small window out of their apartment, standing on tiptoe to do so. Beyond the grime that caked the outside of the window, Belle watched the people walk through the busy streets of Paris. Belle was born in this city, though they didn't move into this apartment until Belle was two years old. When she was little, her mother would take her for walks along the crowded streets and to the park and Belle would be able to see all sorts of people. Some were rich, others dressed in rags, but Belle enjoyed meeting them all.

She laughed once as she remembered a rather embarrassing moment when she was four. Maman was taking her towards the park one day when they came across a man holding his hat upside down. The man had been begging for coins, of course, but Belle didn't understand that at the time. Thinking that he was looking for a new hat, Belle took her second-hand blue bonnet off her tiny head, broke away from her mother, and held the bonnet up to the man. Her mother gasped and tried to drag Belle away, but the man with the alarmingly dirty beard laughed and carefully put the bonnet back on Belle's head. Belle was confused and was surprised to see her mother look angry with her, but Belle never received the scolding she had anticipated. Belle didn't think she even told Papa. What Maman _did_ do, however, was take Belle aside much later on in the day.

"You are so good, my Belle. Where did you get such a good heart?"

Not really understanding what her mother was saying, Belle could only reply: "From you, Maman." Whereupon her mother pulled Belle into a tight hug and allowed Belle to go play.

With that memory, Belle stepped back from the dirty window to sit amongst her piles and shelves of books. A couple of the piles went as high as Belle's head as she sat and looked at her beloved books. Papa was right; it wasn't like her to ignore her books. She picked up the closest volume: a beautiful leather bound item, on its cover a hand painted image of a maiden sitting in a garden, looking wistfully at a castle in the distance. Though she was quite old enough to read to herself, Maman would often read these stories to her when Belle was sick or had a particularly bad day; the exciting events and happy endings never failed to make Belle feel better. And later, when her mother began to stay home because of her illness, Belle would read the same stories to her.

Belle took a breath and opened the cover. In the top right corner of the inside page was Belle's first scribble of her own name and Belle was proud that her penmanship was much more grown up now. The center of the same page was taken up by a sentiment inscribed by her mother which read: _Belle, Books are friends that never leave you and teach you who you truly are. I love you, mon ange. ~Maman_

Belle had read those words hundreds of times before, but the words now seemed to take on an entirely different meaning than before. Now that Maman was gone, all Belle had left of her was her books and it was wrong of her to push those aside.

A knock came at the door and Belle looked up in time to see Papa enter her room. "Belle?" he said, his voice curious.

"Papa. Oh, Papa," she cried, surprised at the emotion that suddenly welled up in her tiny chest, making it so tight it was difficult to breathe. Papa came to sit beside her and pulled her into his arms, encircling her slight frame in warmth. "I miss her so much, Papa," Belle confessed, feeling the edges of the fairy tale book press into her stomach as her father held her more tightly.

"I do too," he whispered and kissed the top of her head. Belle felt the empty despair inside her chest at last begin to ebb in light of the new uncomfortable emotion and, wrapped in her Papa's arms, she was at last able to cry. It was quiet at first, just a few silent tears that ran down her cheeks, but as those first few tears fell, so too did the rest of the hollowness and Belle began to weep. Sobs wracked her chest as she cried for her mother, but it felt good to at last be able to truly mourn her.

"It's all right," Papa cooed, rocking her back and forth as though she were a baby. Belle was most certainly not a baby, but it felt good nonetheless and she put aside her large nine year old pride for the moment. "You're all right."

"What are we going to do, Papa?" she wept uncontrollably, her repressed emotions now hitting her like a wave upon the shore. "She's gone!"

"I know, Belle. Hush now, everything will be all right. I promise I'll take care of you. Maman will be watching over us, and together we'll be all right." Belle hugged her book more tightly to her, but her now painful sobs began to ease as she found comfort in her Papa's words. It hardly replaced her mother; she still wanted her mother more than anything and missed her with all her heart, but decided that she and Papa would find a way to be all right.

* * *

_Ok, now that I've thoroughly depressed you all with these two chapters, I promise things will be looking up for Belle and the Beast soon! Well, mostly Belle because let's face it, being turned into a Beast would pretty much be the worst._

_Thank you all for your reviews as well! I think I've responded to all those from the first chapter except for 'Lily' and to them I want to say that I am planning, as best I can, explain the logistics of how and when the servants get the full story!_


	3. Chapter 3

Beast's POV

Spent from his efforts in destroying all that reminded him of his humanity, the Prince sunk into a corner of his ruined room where the glow of the enchanted rose could not touch him. How could this have happened to him? Surely there were people worse than he whom the Enchantress could have tormented. Why do this to _him_ out of all those other people? The fresh wound of what that horrible Enchantress had done filled him with anger once again, but he did not have the energy to work up to another tantrum. Instead, he tossed aside a few pieces of shattered wood and settled more comfortably onto the cold tile beneath him to survey the damage she had caused him.

He surveyed the once handsome room and hung his head, slightly ashamed of what he had done to it, but he knew that he was unable to look upon all the finery that had been meant for a Prince, not this. . .this _thing_ he had now become.

He raised his hands—his paws now—to examine them closely for the first time. If he was going to be stuck in this form for at least ten years, he might as well understand what he was, awful though it might be. His palms, like his entire body seemed to be, were covered in thick, silky brown fur just a shade or two off from what his human auburn hair had been. The palms had a single rough pad that felt much like those of a cat's, running across where his fingers met the palm. They were of an alarming size, much bigger than an eleven year old boy's could ever be, but the worst part of his paws were the claws that extended over two inches beyond the tips of the fingers. They were horrifying, glinting viciously in the dying light of the worst day of his life. If he wasn't careful, he was certain he could cut himself with his own claws. It did explain how he was able to tear the furniture in his room apart so easily, though.

He moved on to examine his arms, astounded as he felt his new powerful muscles beneath the fur. He felt himself breathe through what seemed like massive lungs to fill his immense chest, feeling the power in his breath and the deeper, more intimidating voice it provided him. His paws worked their way down to his legs and he realized that he was wearing nothing but a pair of tattered trousers and a ragged shirt, left to him from his transformation.

Ignoring that for the time being, he tried to figure out his feet. They were paws as well, but different from the paws that served him as hands. While he still had the dexterity of fingers and somewhat kept the appearance of a human hand, his feet could be called nothing else but an animal's paws. Perhaps they were modeled after those of a wolf, judging by the shape, but he knew little about animal anatomy.

While he examined his legs, he noticed an extra bit of fur that didn't seem to belong to anything. Curious, he reached down and tugged at it, feeling an odd pulling sensation at his rear. He stood in alarm and turned in a circle in a vain attempt to see the full extent of what the Enchantress had done to him. He reached back and took hold of what was trailing behind him and nearly screamed in shock: he had a _tail_! What on earth was he going to do with a tail? What woman would fall in love with a creature who had a tail?

He rubbed his face in frustration and disbelief at this new discovery and was shocked at the contours he felt beneath his fur-covered fingers. He had nearly forgotten, in light of the discovery of the tail, that his face had also been twisted and morphed into that of an ugly animal. The tail wasn't even close to the main problem and he revised his previous thought: what woman would fall in love with a creature with a _face_ such as his?

He moaned in despair as he felt his broadened and slightly upturned nose, the fangs that protruded from his bottom lip, the odd, floppy ears and, worst of all, the horns. He was hideous.

But he was strong, so much stronger than he could ever have imagined, and that made him feel powerful amidst his despair. In fact, he felt powerful enough to confront his weepy servants, hoping to show them that he had the worst end of the bargain. So he flung open the doors to the West Wing and strode as well as he could manage down the hall, hollering for his servants with his new powerful voice as he went. No one came to him, which sent him spiraling into a rage. A prince should not have to go to his servants, his servants should come to him. But his desire to show them how much worse his situation was than theirs led him to do something he had never done before: he went into the castle's kitchen.

Inside the swinging doors, he was met with a scene he had never encountered before. Though he was unused to these humble surroundings, he was more stricken by the living creatures he found inside. Rather than the human servants he had grown up around, he was now surrounded by what seemed like an endless sea of the moving household objects he had been surprised by hours earlier, still weeping and supporting each other's new bodies.

"Enough!" he bellowed, gaining the attention of any who had not noticed him burst through the kitchen's doors. "You dare to be so selfish when I have become _this_?"

"Your. . .Your Highness?" A candelabra with the voice and rather distinctive nose of his maitre d' Lumiere hopped forward.

"NO!" He thundered, anger filling his massive chest at Lumiere's words. "Not 'Your Highness.' Not anymore. You will call me 'Master' and nothing else. Is that what you wanted, Enchantress?" He roared to the ceiling, addressing now the horrible woman who had done this to him. "For me to give up everything that matters? I'm not a prince any more, I am a Beast, just as you said!" He turned back to the objects who cowered before him, rattling their new delicate porcelain bodies in fear of him. "And you are to blame for this, too! If the Enchantress did this to me, then you must have done something wrong to deserve this as well. I do not want to hear any more whimpering or weeping! You will endure this knowing that your master has a worse fate than yours!"

"E-enchantress? Your—Master, what's happened?" But he ignored the mantel clock with the same stuffy air as Cogsworth and ran from the kitchen as quickly as he could to return to the refuge of the West Wing. He did not see the teapot with Mrs. Potts' voice attempt and fail to embrace the small, chipped cup who wept beside her.

He was fuming at the servants' weakness at their own less punishing transformation, but felt accomplished knowing he set them in their place. As he pushed over a weakened wardrobe in his rooms, he realized that the servants probably had no idea what had happened to them, since the Enchantress' appearance and his own transformation took place just outside the palace doors. A small sliver of guilt shot through him, but it was quickly subdued as he convinced himself they did not deserve an explanation.

He returned to the dark corner of his room and tried very hard not to weep. An eleven year old prince should not weep, and a Beast should weep even less so. But so much had changed so drastically and so very quickly; in a matter of moments he had lost his title, his beautiful castle, and his humanity. A tear welled up in his eye, but he brushed it away roughly and instead grew angry. If his father hadn't left him after his mother and sister died, perhaps this wouldn't have happened. Perhaps his father would've been cursed like this instead. He deserved it for abandoning his son.

But he very much doubted the Enchantress would return to take this curse away to replace it on his father, so he was left to sulk angrily in his corner to dwell on his own terrible fate.

"I am a Beast," he muttered to himself, his growling voice still foreign in his ears. "I am a Beast," he repeated more strongly and stood, using the wall behind him to heave his massive body upwards. "And it is a Beast I shall become." He ripped off the already tattered shirt that still clung to his new body, decided that his cloak only added to the terrifying image he decided to embrace, and leapt out onto the balcony using all four of his paws. He straightened up onto his hind legs, threw his head back, and roared into the night.

He heard the sound echo around him and was pleased at its power, so he drew another breath and roared once more, pulling it from the bottom of his stomach and showing the world what he had become: a powerful, dangerous Beast who was not to be trifled with. He grinned with a dark pleasure.

* * *

Belle's POV

It had been three weeks since Maman's funeral and the helpful meals of sympathy made and delivered by the neighbors had begun to ebb. And that meant only one thing: either Belle or Papa had to learn how to cook. Maman had taught Belle some simple things before, but Belle was not really old enough to be trusted with a heavy pot by the open fire or the large knife that was longer than her forearm. Papa tried, of course, but nearly everything he tried was burnt or tasted awful. Belle tried not to complain, but she was glad when Papa seemed not to like his cooking either.

"Perhaps I'll ask Maria to help us out for a bit," he said after a particularly charred chicken dinner. Belle smiled and nodded in approval of this plan. Maria was a comfortable, aunt-like woman in the apartment next door who seemed to adore Belle the day they had moved in would surely help make more meals for Belle and Maurice. Perhaps she would even help Belle learn some more advanced cooking techniques. To her surprise, though, Maria refused.

"You're such a tiny little thing, my dear," Maria said when Belle posed her question one afternoon. "If you fell into the fire I'd never forgive myself. Perhaps when you're older. For now, I'd be happy to help you and your Papa out of course."

"But you can't. . ." Belle began to protest.

"Of course I can. In exchange, perhaps you can read me some of your stories. Does me good to hear such fantastical tales every now and again." Belle nodded although she felt as though she was taking advantage of her. But when she told Papa what Maria had said, he seemed relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"You need to eat properly, my Belle," he said. "You're such a tiny thing I want to make sure you're eating as good as you can."

"Why does everyone comment on how tiny I am?" Belle protested with a frown. "I'm nine and a half, after all. And Maman never called me tiny," she finished, although immediately she wished she hadn't added that last bit as her father's expression fell. "I'm sorry, Papa," she apologized, feeling a pang of guilt and moving to embrace her father. "I know you miss her. I miss her, too. But I think you miss her differently."

"You're very perceptive for your age," Papa said and the sorrow in his face lightened enough for him to smile at her. "It's all right. I don't want to make you think you can't talk about Maman."

"I shouldn't compare you to her, though. That isn't fair."

"Well, just know that I will _always_ do the best I can for you. Sometimes I might need a little help, and Maria is a _much_ better cook than I am."

"That's for sure," Belle said with a giggle and her father's laughter soon joined in with her own. Their laughter might have lasted longer than was warranted, but it felt good.

So, nearly every night, Maria would come over to the apartment and cook dinner for Belle and Maurice. They were on their own for breakfast and lunch, but Belle was perfectly capable of performing the simple tasks of boiling eggs and toasting bread for these much less complicated meals. It was the meats, stews, and the more difficult aspects needed for a good dinner that were too much for her to handle. But Belle would look over Maria's shoulder as she cooked, memorizing everything she did so that when Belle was older she could replicate the recipes. And, while Papa did the dishes after a good meal, Maria would sit in a comfortable chair by the fire with Belle and listen to her read from her storybooks, just as they had bargained.

It was a comfortable routine, and one Belle was grateful for. But nearly every night after Maria had returned to her own apartment and when Papa went into his small workshop in a room off of the kitchen to tinker with the inventions he created, Belle would sneak into her parents' bedroom, open one of the two small wardrobes, and sit amongst her mother's dresses. Papa hadn't been able to pack up her mother's things yet and Belle was secretly glad of it. The vanity by the window still displayed her mother's hairbrush and favorite perfume, making it seem as though her mother would walk in any moment. Best of all, though, her clothes in the wardrobe still smelled distinctly like her. Sitting among them, feeling the soft fabric pool around her, Belle could close her eyes, breathe deeply, and imagine her mother's embrace once more.

On a rainy evening a few days after Maria agreed to cook their dinners, Belle crept into her mother's wardrobe while her father worked on his machines. Belle sat amongst the dresses for as long as she dared, but all too soon the sound of a closing door downstairs prompted her to make her escape before Papa found her. She didn't want him to find her and start questioning why she was sitting in her mother's wardrobe. Truth be told she was a little embarrassed about how much she missed her mother.

Belle returned to her bedroom just in time for Papa to climb the stairs and open the hastily closed door without noticing how his daughter was slightly gasping with exertion. He came in to kiss her goodnight just as he did every night, just as he and Maman used to do every night, but this time Belle thought he looked a little sadder than usual.

"Are you all right, Papa?" she asked, sitting up in bed and pushing back the covers her Papa had just pulled up under her chin. He smiled at her and replaced the covers, pushing back her loose hair as he did so.

"Fine, my Belle. Just some grown up things. Sleep now," he said and kissed her forehead before closing the door behind him. Grown up things? What did that mean? Belle sighed, supposing that Papa wouldn't tell her even if she asked and instead lit the candle beside her bed to read a few chapters of her latest book before she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle's POV

"And they lived happily ever after," Clarice read and closed the book with a happy sigh. Belle mirrored the sigh and smiled at the heartwarming end to the story.

"Thank goodness," she said as Clarice added the book to the disorderly pile on the grass beside them. "It was looking pretty bad for the prince for a while."

"We've run out of books again," Clarice said. "We'll have to return these and get more tomorrow."

"We'll go through the whole store at this rate," Belle added. "I'm glad Papa decided I was old enough to go there by myself with you. He never liked waiting around for us to pick out what we wanted."

"Your mother always let us stay as long as we wanted," Clarice said as she picked up one of the books they had read earlier that afternoon. Belle flinched at the reminder of her mother and Clarice dropped the book with a gasp. "Belle, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed and took Belle's hands. "I know you miss her. It isn't fair of me to bring her up."

"It's been over a month. I thought the pain might go away after so long," Belle said sadly.

"You were so close to her. I don't think you'll ever stop missing her."

"Let's bring these back to the shop," Belle said, avoiding the topic as she gathered up the books beside them. "It'll be dark soon and Papa will worry. So will your parents."

"I wish we could live together like real sisters," Clarice said, standing and folding up the small tattered blanket they had been sitting on. Winter was still in full force, but it had been a mild week that Belle and Clarice had taken full advantage of. "Then we wouldn't have to worry about so many people looking for us."

"Maybe you can stay over sometime," Belle suggested, finding the idea of having her dearest friend spend the night quite exciting. "It would be nice to have some company other than Papa and Maria."

"Is she still annoying you?" Clarice asked and began walking towards the street.

"She's not so bad. I'm glad she's around to help, but she's gotten tired of my stories already and just gossips about everyone else or complains about her aches and pains. I really do like her, but sometimes it can be hard to bear all of that."

"Maybe you can come over to my apartment for dinner. My parents are as good of cooks as Maria but they aren't as tiresome as her," Clarice suggested with a giggle.

"I'll have to ask Papa, but that would be nice," Belle replied. Papa had been acting strangely lately and Belle wasn't entirely sure he would let Belle go, but she didn't tell Clarice that.

"Here's the bookstore. Hurry up, my arms are tired!"

"Oh, the books aren't _that_ heavy," Belle protested merrily. "Maybe next time we'll pick out some nice small ones you can carry. Perhaps some lovely picture books." Clarice stuck her tongue out at Belle and giggled as she walked through the strange little shop's doorway.

Belle loved this store with its slightly crooked doorway and worn paint, books lying on every available surface area, and the owner's cat napping comfortably wherever it wished. She and Clarice had discovered it on a walk with their mothers a little over three years ago and since then they had visited the store whenever they had the chance. Since Belle's mother was a tutor, the disheveled old woman who owned the shop allowed her and her chosen company (Belle, Clarice, and Clarice's mother) to simply borrow books rather than purchase them. It was a courtesy that was extended beyond the death of Belle's mother and Belle was grateful for that, since she had little money to buy all the books she wished to read.

The bell on the door rang as they entered the store, immediately followed by a gentle push at Belle's ankles as the cat wound its way around them. "Hello, Persephone," Belle said fondly, bending down and scratching gently behind her ears. When she was rewarded with a loud purr, Belle straightened up and rebalanced her pile of books before they all toppled to the floor.

"Why is the cat's name Persephone? I've always wondered. It seems a rather silly name for a cat," Clarice said as they approached the counter to deposit their books.

"Persephone was queen of the Underworld in Greek mythology. So this Persephone is queen of the bookstore," Belle explained. She quite approved of the name the old black and grey cat was given, even if Clarice didn't.

"My book worms have come back, have they?" Miss Sybil the store owner said, emerging from behind a rather tall pile of books on the counter. "And how were your adventures today?"

"Adventures?" Clarice asked and Belle mirrored her confusion. Neither of them had been on any adventures.

"Oh, yes, didn't you know? You live a thousand lives when you read a book!" Miss Sybil exclaimed, taking a few books off of the stack the girls just deposited before her. Belle smiled at the kindly old woman with her loose bun of frizzy white hair. Belle certainly agreed with Miss Sybil; Belle always felt slightly exhausted after reading a good book, as though she had indeed gone through several lifetimes inside its pages. However, Belle had always dreamed of going on adventures of her own, not just read about them in books. But her time would come, she was sure of it.

"Are you bringing any home for tonight?" Clarice asked Belle as she thumbed through the nearest crooked stack of books.

"Not tonight. I have a book going at home I want to finish first," Belle replied.

"How many books do you read at a time? My goodness, don't you do anything else, my dear?" Miss Sybil exclaimed.

"I help Papa around the house. And Maria is _slowly_ teaching me how to cook so she won't have to soon."

"Well, as long as you don't ruin your eyes reading all these books. See you girls tomorrow, I suppose!" Miss Sybil said and waved as Belle and Clarice left empty-handed.

"Try to be patient with Maria," Clarice reminded Belle as they approached Belle's apartment a few blocks later. "You know she means well."

"I know. I'll be all right. See you tomorrow!" Belle said and waved as Clarice left her at the door to go on to her own apartment two blocks further down. Belle turned to face the door with a sigh. She had not anticipated Maria getting so tiresome so quickly and the evenings began to be a time Belle wanted to avoid. She supposed part of it was because it was her mother who was supposed to be teaching Belle how to cook, but that now had been taken away.

"It's not Maria's fault," she muttered to herself as she entered the house. Belle should not be frustrated with someone who was only trying to help.

"Ah, the triumphant return," Papa's voice greeted her as she shook her light cloak off her shoulders. "And how many books did you and Clarice devour today?"

"Several," Belle said with a grin. "Is Maria here yet?"

"Maria isn't coming tonight. I thought it'd be nice if it would just be you and me." Normally this would have pleased Belle, but there was something in her father's expression that told her this was not necessarily a positive occurrence.

"What's wrong, Papa?" She took a step towards her father as he stood in the sitting room.

"I'm afraid there's some grown up things I haven't been telling you," he began, sitting on the deep green sofa and motioning to her.

"Papa, I'm nearly ten," she protested as she sat beside her father. "You don't have to treat me like a child." Papa took her hands and looked at her silently for a long time. She did her best to return his gaze, but when tears began forming in his eyes she had to look away. "All right, you can still treat me like a child since I am still nine, I guess," she amended. "But will you please tell me what grown up thing is wrong just this once?"

"You know your mother was a remarkable woman," Papa began and Belle quickly nodded. "She taught many young boys through the years, with families who paid her very well. Because of that, I was able to go on with my inventions. I've had a couple successes, you know."

"I know, Papa. I think your inventions are wonderful!" she said truthfully. It took a brilliant mind to come up with the sorts of things her father created, and she was so proud of him.

"Thank you, my Belle," he said with a smile and tucked back a stray piece of hair that had fallen across her forehead. It was a sad sort of smile, but it was better than she had seen from him in the past couple of days. "The point is, your mother had brought in most of the money it takes to live here. I'm afraid I can't afford it on my own. We'll have to move into a smaller apartment."

Belle sat very still for a moment and took in what her father just said. Move? But this was her home, where Maman had been. How could she move away from it? "Will we be far from Clarice?" she asked. Out of the thousands of questions that had flooded her head, that was the first to break through into proper speech. Clarice was her only real friend; it was only she who shared Belle's love of reading when the rest of the world scorned them for it. Except for Maman, of course. Even Papa didn't fully understand why she loved to read, but he accepted it and promoted it without question. But if Belle lost Clarice, she didn't know what she would do.

"I heard of a place that's close by. It's much smaller, but no, it won't be much further from Clarice," Papa replied and Belle sighed in relief. "You aren't worried about giving up this nice place?" he continued.

"No, Papa," she replied quickly. Why would she really? "I'll miss it. Maman was here," she admitted. "But as long as it's you and me I know we'll be all right."

"And if we're near Clarice," he added with a smile.

"That too," she agreed with a giggle.

"My Belle, you are such a little angel. We'll have to move soon, and we'll have to give up a lot of our things. That includes a lot of Maman's things." Belle could see the pain it caused him to say that and she realized suddenly how much Papa had truly loved Maman, like a romance in one of her books. A tragic romance.

"Not everything," she protested. "Can't we keep a few of her things?"

"I'd like to keep the painting of you and her. My two beauties," he said and brushed her cheek to make her giggle again. "But I'm afraid not much else. I'll have to get rid of all my supplies down in the basement and. . .and I'm afraid we won't have room for most of your books."

"My books?" she repeated. How small was this place that she would have to get rid of her dearest possessions? She tried to remember that Papa was giving up an awful lot more than she, but her books were her life.

"I'm sorry, my dear. But there just isn't room. Maybe you could give them to Miss Sybil. I'm sure she would put them in a special place where you can still read them." Belle nodded, knowing she shouldn't argue, not when this was clearly so difficult for him. But her books? "I'm sorry, my dear. You can pick out your favorites, of course, and I'll help you take the rest to Miss Sybil next week."

"We'll be moving next week?" Belle asked.

"Afraid so, my Belle. I know it's very fast, but it's partly because I couldn't bear to tell you, partly because it _has_ happened so quickly. Now, enough grown up talk for tonight. I've asked Maria to make dinner early so it's warming in the oven." Belle obeyed and tried not to brood about losing her beloved books.

After dinner, when she was safely upstairs for the night, however, Belle knelt in front of the large bookcase in her room, surrounded by the piles of books on the floor that wouldn't fit on the shelves. She was to give up all these stories, all these friends? She didn't much mind losing the apartment so long as she and Papa would stay together and she could be near Clarice. But to choose just a few of her books to bring with her seemed impossible.

Belle moved to sit on the floor of her room with her back resting against the large bookcase. She shifted the piles on the floor so that her books completely surrounded her, creating a sort of wall around her. Armed with a full candle and one extra, though now apparently they could hardly spare the expense, Belle settled into her makeshift fort and began reading everything she could. Book after book she devoured, trying not to think how she would have to get rid of more than half of them soon. Yes, she could read nearly any book she wanted from Miss Sybil's store, but it wasn't the same has having books she could call her own.

She began to doze off in what must have been the early hours of the morning, but fought against it as best she could. She must have lost the battle though, for her Papa awoke her the next morning.

"Belle," he said and she could hear the sadness in his voice even as she tried to focus her groggy eyes on his face. Papa shifted a pile of the books so he might sit in her fort with her, setting aside the dead candle stub and putting an arm around her. "You know I would love to give you anything you want. I'd spoil you rotten if I could, and if I thought you could become rotten at all. But I'm afraid I can't."

"It's all right, Papa," she said and rested her head against him. "I was being selfish. I'm sorry. I really don't mind all that much." Perhaps what she said was a lie, but she couldn't let her father think that he was failing her. Papa could never fail her, not as long as he loved her.

"You're such a good little girl," he said and gave her an extra squeeze. "Sorry, my big girl. You're almost ten, after all." He grinned down at her and Belle realized he was teasing her.

"Oh, _Papa,_" she sighed. "I'll always be your little girl."

"Good," he said and kissed the top of her head. "Come down to breakfast when you're ready. If you can maybe you could come back a little early from Clarice and help me do some packing?"

"I don't have to go out today," she offered. "If you'd like me to stay and help, I will."

"No, go with Clarice, just be home an hour or two before dinner, all right?" Belle agreed easily, secretly glad she didn't have to miss a day planned with Clarice. "And don't worry, my Belle. Our next home will be just fine, I promise you."

"Of course it will," she agreed and smiled. Even if she did have to give away many of her books and Maman's possessions, at least she still had Clarice and her Papa.


	5. Chapter 5

Beast's POV

The Beast spent the next month exploring the seemingly boundless limits of his new body. Since he had embraced what the Enchantress had given him, he found that it was quite easy to do as he wished. Not that he hadn't before, but now it seemed he inspired true fear into his more easily breakable servants and they avoided him unless specifically called for. Which he rarely did now.

He found that while he enjoyed the solitude of the West Wing, after awhile the walls seemed to close him in. The first time he had felt so enclosed, he tried to leave through the castle's halls but discovered he could not endure the sight of his transformed servants. Moving feather dusters and candlesticks unnerved him, and the looks they gave him made him feel guilty, which made him angry. He had nothing to feel guilty for; he never asked for this to happen to him, or to them, and it was ungrateful of them to silently accuse him.

To cure his claustrophobia and avoid the servants, he experimented with moving about _outside_ the castle's walls. He had often wished he could climb the rooftops when he was. . .when he was younger, and now he felt strong enough to actually achieve such a dangerous thing. So one day, when the weather was mild and there was little snow that might make him slip (he wasn't a _complete_ fool), he jumped up onto the low wall of his balcony and eyed the rooftop several feet above his head. He crouched down, bunching all four of his limbs underneath him, took a breath, and leapt. He leapt much farther than he thought possible and felt all four of his paws successfully hit the rooftop above his balcony.

He took a moment to balance himself, but only a moment, before he began climbing upwards, higher and higher until he could go no more. Then he dared to leap to the rooftop nearby, successfully regained his footing, and eagerly climbed higher still until he reached the very topmost roof. He clung to the peak of the roof and gazed out at the new view his elevated position provided.

Before him lay the familiar forests that surrounded his castle, his family's old summer palace that his mother had loved. She had preferred it to the family's other castle for its solitude, and as a result he had spent most of his childhood surrounded by the dull trees. He hated the forest, and hated still more that he was never allowed to explore it. He had fought against this rule at first, even going to far as to escape from Mrs. Potts' watchful eye to make it to its edge before he heard the howl of wolves. The sound sent him nearly crying back to Mrs. Potts' arms, the fragile dignity of his four year old self compromised at last. Since then he had not been keen to return to the forest, but perhaps now he might be able to explore it at length.

Deciding he had done enough daring things for one day, he resolved to test his bravery in the forest another time. Lingering a few more moments like some bird of prey atop the peak of the roof, he let the wind tousle his fur and enjoyed how little the cold winter winds affected him.

Really so far this whole transformation wasn't so bad. He rarely left the castle anyway, so that wasn't much of a change, and ever since his father left when he was eight, no one had ever visited. He had some idea that his aloof father had forbidden anyone from visiting the son he hated; perhaps his father even blamed his son for the death of his wife and daughter. They had died of scarlet fever, and Mrs. Potts had done her best to convince the young prince that he was not in fact to blame for their deaths. But his father needed someone to blame, so it might as well be the son and heir he never liked.

As a result, he was quite used to being alone, so if the Enchantress had been hoping to isolate him as part of his punishment, she hadn't counted on the fact he had already isolated himself. And climbing the rooftops the way he was able to now made him feel more librated than he had in a long time. He chuckled as he climbed back down to his balcony, pleased that the Enchantress' plan had gone so awry. Yes, he was a Beast, but perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought.

As he leapt back onto the solid balcony with all the grace of a cat, he noticed the enchanted rose that hovered under its protective glass bell jar. He approached it, considering its odd glow as he did. Perhaps he should crush it now and be done with the curse cleanly, none of this foolish waiting around for something that would never happen. How would he feel to remain as this Beast for the rest of his life, not because he was doomed to it by a love that he never found, but of his own design? Not for the first time since the curse befell him, he wished that the mirror showed the future that he might see what his decision might mean later down the line. What use was it to see the present, even if he could see it happening outside the castle?

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie and immediately his temper rose at the disruption.

"What?" he demanded as he threw open the door. When no one stood before him, it took him a moment to remember to look down. The teapot before him held a gentle, expressive face that reminded him of Mrs. Potts, but it couldn't have been more different and was frankly rather off-putting.

"I'm sorry Your—I mean, Master," the teapot began and the Beast could hear the rattle of her lid against her porcelain body as she shook in obvious fright. "But there's a traveler at the door and we're all at a loss at what to do. Lumiere wanted to let him in, but I told him to wait."

"A traveler?" he grunted. There were never any travelers; few people braved the forest, at least few ever left the clearly marked roads that cut through the dark trees. He had no ambition to break the solitude that had been granted to him, but neither did he want this man hanging about his castle. He knew that the servants could not take care of the situation, not the way they were. He wasn't even sure they could reach the door handles now. So it was up to him to drive the man away. He grinned unexpectedly; this could be fun.

Without a word, he stepped over Mrs. Potts and made his way downstairs, sweeping down the staircases on all fours, cloak billowing behind him. He halted by the front door and did his best not to remember that it was behind this very door where he had been cursed by the wicked Enchantress. A small pang of guilt shot through him as he realized his servants were still in the dark as far as the curse was concerned, but it quickly passed and he focused on the task at hand.

He could hear the man move behind the thick wooden door and was surprised as he realized how strong his hearing was now. It used to be that unless the person on the other side knocked very loudly, he would be left standing outside unawares to anyone inside the castle. But now the Beast could hear the man brush off his coat and shuffle his feet as if he were standing right next to the stranger.

He opened the door slightly, enough to draw the traveler's attention, but not enough that the stranger might see inside. The Beast didn't want the stranger to see him, not just yet.

"What do you want?" he growled, pleased that his normal voice was deep and terrible enough to make the man jump.

"I—I was lost and I was hoping for some shelter until morning. The wolves. . ."

"The wolves are the least of your problems," he interrupted, enjoying his sport. "The wolves _might_ kill you. But if you enter here, you will most certainly die." He certainly had no intentions of killing this man, but he was finding far too much enjoyment from terrifying this man.

"W-who are you?" he stammered, obviously struggling to see the speaker through the dark doorway. The Beast had been waiting for this; dramatically, he threw open the door and stood at his full height. Perhaps he was only a little over six feet tall which by itself might not be overly terrifying, but his appearance would surely send the man running back into the trees. The man did indeed look frightened out of his wits, but unfortunately stood his ground.

"A bear?" the stranger choked out.

"A Beast," he corrected, grinning at the man's fright and showing his fangs. But he was still confused at why the man refused to run from him. He wanted his solitude back and was running out of ideas; was this man brave, or merely stupid? He took a step towards the man, looming over him as best he could though the man was nearly his height. The man stumbled backward, which pleased the Beast, but he did not see him reach for his belt until the dagger was arching through the air towards him. The Beast dodged it as best he could but, while his own agility amazed him, it was not enough to evade the blade completely. The knife nicked his hide on his upper arm, not deeply, but enough to make him jump back from the suddenly hostile traveler.

"Come back here, beast," the man hissed, jumping forwards to hurt him again. But the Beast was quicker this time and slammed the door closed between them. He could hear the man banging at the door, but the Beast knew the door would hold and so ignored it. Instead, the Beast slumped to the floor and examined his wounded arm. It wasn't deep. In fact, it barely bled, but he had never been hurt before, let alone attacked, and he was inclined to feel rather sorry for himself. He whimpered as he prodded his wound with his fingers, the elation he felt earlier quickly disappearing and leaving him feeling rather deflated and foolish.

"Master?" he looked up to see several of his servants scattered a little ways from him, Mrs. Potts at the front, and he turned his head away from them. "Master, do you think he means us harm? Do you think he'll come back?"

The Beast realized that the banging at the door had ceased which either meant the traveler had left, or he was biding his time to attack again. He might have even gone to find more men to attack him. The Beast could hardly fend off one man with a small dagger, let alone an entire group with proper weapons. For the first time since the Enchantress had cursed him, he was properly frightened.

"I don't know," he grunted and turned his attention to his small wound so his servants might not see how frightened he was.

"Master?" Mrs. Potts said again. He grunted to show he was listening, but did not look up. "Perhaps it's time you explained to us what has happened." He sighed heavily, knowing Mrs. Potts was right, as she usually was. But doing so would only add shame to his already wounded pride.

"Very well," he said at last and heaved himself to his feet. "Get me something for my arm, and I'll explain it all. Just to you, Cogsworth, and Lumiere," he added quickly. He didn't want to struggle through the whole story in front of his entire staff. The three head servants were enough to reveal his shame to, for now all he felt was burning shame where before was the feeling of pride and superiority.

As his servants scattered, he skulked to the sitting room nearest the entrance hall to wait for the chosen few to hear his doom. He had half a mind to pace in front of the large fire place, but he found he was far too exhausted from his encounter with his attacker. So instead he merely flopped down into the high backed chair that stood before the fire and gazed into the flames. He had felt so strong, so powerful just a few hours ago but it was clear now that it was all a lie. Yes, he was still stronger than he ever imagined he could be, but what good was that against a hunter's knife? He was a beast, and for the first time he realized the implications of what that meant. Beyond ugliness, beyond strength, he was now a creature to be hated and feared by man. It made him despise his very skin and ache to be free of it. But the only way he would be free would be to have someone fall in love with him. And if he was to be such a hated creature, then there was truly no hope for him after all.

Before he could wallow too deeply in the newfound horrors of his situation, the door to the sitting room opened and three household objects walked in of their own accord. It was still quite a thing to see usually inanimate, stationary objects hop towards him as if they had every right to be moving. Mrs. Potts he knew as the teapot; really that made perfect sense if she was to become an object, since she was a bit chubby and obsessed with tea. The candelabra he vaguely recalled recognizing earlier as Lumiere, and unless they had gone against his orders to only include the three head servants, the mantel clock bringing up the rear could only be Cogsworth, the majordomo of the castle.

"Now let's see about that wound," Mrs. Potts said as though nothing were amiss, as if he were not a monster and she were not a teapot. But it was Cogsworth who stepped forward with a damp cloth to dab at the wound on his master's arm and the Beast realized with a start that he was the only one with usable hands.

"I'll do it myself," he grunted, snatching the cloth away from Cogsworth tiny brass hands with enough force to send the tiny creature tumbling backwards. He hadn't meant to do that; he'd have to remember to be less rough with them. He was much stronger now and they were more fragile, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt one of them. They might most be bumbling, useless things, but he didn't want to go so far as to break them.

He winced as he dabbed at his tiny wound, the shame of it hurting more than the cut itself. The servants waited in silence, but it was an expectant silence and it annoyed him. He rubbed angrily at his slightly bloody fur until it was mostly gone. He didn't have the patience to do it properly and frankly didn't want to deal with it any more. The only problem was that once he finished cleaning the wound, he had nothing more to delay speaking about the curse. He tossed the cloth on the small table beside the chair and sighed heavily; he had been avoiding this from the start and had no wish to relive the awfulness and the injustice that had happened to him just barely a month ago. But a look from Mrs. Potts spurred him into speaking. She was always good at that; he was aware he had a bit of a temper and could be stubborn, but Mrs. Potts usually somehow managed to get him to do what was needed. After a while, anyway.

So he told them at last, explained with some difficulty what the Enchantress said about him. He told them about the rule of the ten years, the rose that stood in the West Wing, and the magic mirror in his possession. They were silent as he spoke, though he suspected Mrs. Potts had quite a bit to do with that. He told the tale as quickly as possible while still giving them the full details they probably expected. He wasn't entirely sure he would be able to endure any questions, so it was probably best that he get as much as he could out in one go.

"Ten years? Mon Dieu, that is 'orrible!" Lumiere exclaimed, his brass arms waving and sending his flames flickering. The Beast idly wondered whether Lumiere could douse and light his candles of his own accord or if he had to have someone do it for him.

"It doesn't have to be," Cogsworth put in. "If the Master can. . ."

"Who'd fall in love with _this_?" he roared, furious that Cogsworth could even pretend to hope. "What girl in her right mind would come to a castle in the middle of a forest and throw herself at an animal like me?"

"Nonsense, you're not an animal, not really. I'm certainly not truly a teapot," Mrs. Potts put in and the Beast heard a bit of resentment in her tone.

"Well, I will be after ten years," he retorted and tried not to pout. "And what will I be after twenty years? An old Beast with nothing to live for and grey fur. The Enchantress will have herself a laugh."

"I'd like to give her a piece of my mind," Mrs. Potts said with a huff. "Destroying all our lives with a simple wave of her hand. But we mustn't give up hope."

"It does look rather grim," Cogsworth said before the Beast could roar his disagreement.

"It's in the darkest of times when we have to look on the bright side," she retorted and not even the Beast could reply to that. Maybe she had a point, but what good was it? He was a monster, and it would only get worse.

"Perhaps the Enchantress will show us mercy after a while," Lumiere suggested and the Beast grew angry at the mere idea of it. He didn't want _mercy_, not from her, not even if she would turn him human again. But he merely snorted through his nose at Lumiere's foolish statement and nothing more on it was said.

"We can't fix this," the Beast said after a moment. "There's nothing anyone can do. Might as well accept it."

"I will not accept it," Mrs. Potts said hotly. "I won't, not until I can take my little boy in my arms once again. Begging your pardon, but nothing you say will make me lose hope." With that, Mrs. Potts hopped out of the room, leaving the Beast and the two other servants staring after her speechlessly.

"You might as well leave, too," the Beast growled at the two remaining servants and turned in his chair, making it clear that he would say no more to them.

Once the door closed and his solitude was assured, the Beast allowed himself to slump in his chair, hanging his head and bending forwards as grief at last overcame him. He had been foolish to see any good in this wicked enchantment; it destroyed his life and would continue to mock him every time he looked in the mirror or saw a servant pass by. He wondered perhaps if that horrible traveler hadn't been sent by the Enchantress as punishment for trying to see the good in his curse. He couldn't bear to think on it, though, and the idea was quickly banished from his mind. He was beaten at last, and could do no more than at last accept the fate which had been wrought upon him.


	6. Chapter 6

Beast's POV

Three days had passed and there was no sign of the malevolent traveler. The Beast watched anxiously from the castle's rooftops for any sign of intruders, but none came and at last he resolved that the man would not return.

Since the story of the enchantment had been revealed, the Beast had been unable to face any of his servants. He ignored the knocks upon the doors of the West Wing, refused even to leave the sanctuary his rooms provided him. The accusatory looks he received from his servants before the story got out were bound to increase and he was sure he was unable to face that. He would not be made to feel guilty for the madness that had ensued from the rogue enchantress, but he knew the servants would never understand that it was not his fault. The servants were too simple, too eager to point fingers that they would never overlook whatever part he had played in the enchantment.

After three days of watching the forest for signs of attackers and refusing the servants to enter his rooms, the reality was that he grew ravenously hungry. At first he had been too worried to eat, thinking that at any moment a mob might come to kill the monster the traveler had discovered. But after his initial panic at last subsided, it grew harder and harder to ignore his growling stomach. He wished the servants would leave trays of food for him, but he would not ask them to, nor did they have the courtesy to anticipate this for him. He wondered briefly if his new object-servants even ate food, and if not perhaps they forgotten _he_ at least still required nourishment.

On the fourth day, the Beast had enough of his hunger and dared to venture out of his sanctuary towards the kitchens. He knew that the kitchens were where the servants often gathered, but he was too hungry to care. So he slunk down on his paws, walking on all fours, down the halls and towards the unmistakable scent of food. As he approached the swinging doors to the kitchens, however, he heard some of the servants inside talking and paused to listen, straining his new acute ears to hear better.

". . .serves him right, the selfish brute," one of them was saying. It didn't sound like any of the head servants; more likely it was some lowly kitchen maid who's name did not even matter. "Though why we had to be a part of it I can't say. How can I be expected to go on with my chores without any _hands_?"

"Right improper, that is. We should've just quit while we had the chance. Now we're stuck like this for who knows how long! If I could I'd have a few words to say with that foolish master of ours," another voice said indignantly.

"And what words would those be?" the Beast demanded, pushing through the doors slowly and stalking towards the speakers. The beer stein and the carving knife upon the kitchen table began to shake visibly. "Do you have something to say about all this?" he asked, his voice and his temper rising as he approached the table where the insubordinate servants stood. How _dare_ they say such things about him. Didn't they realize this curse was their fault, too? They were the ones to blame as much as he.

"M-Master! Please f-forgive us. We were only. . ." the beer stein began, but the Beast would hear none of their excuses.

"Enough!" he cried and swiped his massive paw along the surface of the table. The two objects jumped to the floor before he could touch them and they scurried beneath the nearest cabinet. And in truth he had not aimed all that well towards them; most likely he would have missed them anyway. He followed their path and raised his paw to knock over the cabinet in order to reach them. But before he could move, a voice cut into his enraged mind.

"Stop this at once!" The Beast turned at the voice and saw Mrs. Potts hopping across the counter towards him. "You cannot come in here and bat about the servants! Master, look what you were about to strike!" He turned to face the cupboard he was ready to knock over and saw several teacups behind its glass doors, cowering and shaking in fright. "Those are _children_, Master! You cannot come in here and destroy the place. Several weeks ago it might not have mattered much, but now you could _kill _someone!"

The Beast backed down at Mrs. Potts' words, ashamed at his actions although he would never admit it. He glanced between Mrs. Potts and the teacups in the cabinet, horrified that he might have done harm to the children that once ran along the halls of his castle. They were annoying, of course, but they were young, the oldest of them at least three years younger than himself.

Without a word, the Beast turned and fled, but it was not to the West Wing that he sought refuge. Instead, the Beast bolted out the front doors of the castle and onwards towards the forest, diving in to the trees without hesitation.

He all but galloped amongst the trees on all fours, not caring where he went or what he might find in the shadows. All he could see where the frightened faces of the children he almost hurt, almost killed, and he ran until he could be far enough away to keep from doing more damage. It was clear he could not be trusted around his servants; first he nearly broke Cogsworth, then nearly shattered several children in his rage. He was too strong and too ill-tempered to be around such fragile things, even he could admit to that at least to himself.

The Beast stopped, finally exhausted, and looked around at his unfamiliar surroundings. He had gone deeper into the forest than he had ever been; looking back, he could not see any signs of the snowy grounds or even the castle's highest tower. The trees overtook all of that, creating a maze of snow and grey. For a moment he was terrified that he might not be able to find his way back, but he quickly realized that perhaps that did not matter. Perhaps he would run away and live in the forests like the wild animal the Enchantress seemed to have created of him. The idea thrilled him even as he dreaded the destruction of what little humanity he had left and he continued on his way through the trees to admire what was now his.

As he roamed the trees, enjoying how the cold winter winds left him almost completely untouched through his thick fur, he heard the sounds of some sort of animal quite close by. Deciding to investigate, the Beast stalked quietly through the trees until he found the source of the sounds: a wild boar. Instinctively, he crouched low to the ground even as his stomach gave a rumble he was sure the boar would hear. He was disgusted at the idea of mauling the wild boar as his posture suggested he do, but he was so very hungry and the castle's kitchens were unwelcoming of a Beast. He crept closer to the boar which apparently had no idea of his presence and the Beast felt his heart beat with excitement of its own accord. He was nearly close enough to pounce on it and figure out what to do with it after, but the boar suddenly started and scampered away squealing, obviously frightened.

The Beast sighed, wondering what he had done to frighten it when he noticed a shadow to his left. Emerging from the trees and starting to chase after the boar was a wolf, its teeth bared and growling in its pursuit. Terrified, the Beast attempted to slink backwards into the trees before the wolf noticed him, but his movements only drew attention to himself. The wolf stopped his pursuit and swiftly turned to face him, renewing his growls as the fur on its back stood on end. The Beast stood very still, hardly daring to breath as the wolf threatened him. Very quickly, the Beast dared to examine the space surrounding the wolf for his pack, but he seemed to be alone. It was odd for a wolf to be alone, but the Beast was only grateful there were not more.

The wolf regained his attention by taking a step towards him and the Beast quickly retreated. He had no idea how to fight a wolf; even if it was alone, this creature would surely kill him. How was an eleven year old suppose to take on a wolf? Even an eleven year old Beast? But the wolf lunged again and the Beast had no choice. In a panic, he swung out one of his massive paws to keep the wolf from catching hold of his neck and ending the confrontation right there. To his surprise, his paw made contact and sent the wolf sprawling in the snow.

Encouraged by this, the Beast followed through on his attack, swiping at the wolf as it stood from the ground. The wolf stumbled again, but it was quicker to recover and lunged at the Beast, catching him on the chest with one of its clawed paws. The Beast roared in agony and backed away to catch his breath, but the wolf continued its attack. Blindly, the Beast swiped at the wolf and was lucky enough to catch its side with his own claws, ripping into the creature's hide.

It whined and staggered, but lunged again. The Beast was ready for it this time though and hit it with the back of his hand with all the power he could muster, knocking it against a nearby tree. He crouched, ready for it to rise and attack again, but the wolf remained where it was. Cautiously, the Beast approached the wolf and prodded it with his paw. It didn't move. He had killed it! He had overcome a wolf! Overcome with pride for himself, the Beast threw his head back and roared in delight. The sounds of his victory echoed amongst the trees, sending birds flying from their perch.

And somewhere in the distance, the wild boar squealed in fright. The Beast grinned and went off in search of his prey.

* * *

Belle's POV

"This isn't so bad," she said as she walked through the door of her new home. The apartment was on the third floor of a rather run down building several blocks from their old apartment. It had two bedrooms and one main room where both the kitchen, sitting room, and dining room were combined. It was a vast difference from the two-floored apartment she and Papa had just come from with twice as many rooms, but Belle didn't mind. At least after she got over the shock of having to give away so many of her books. She kept the fairy book her mother had given her along with a few of her absolute favorites. All in all she was able to hold on to an even dozen, giving the rest to Miss Sybil who assured Belle she would be able to borrow them any time she wished, assuming someone else hadn't bought them of course.

"We'll fix it up," Papa said lightly, bringing Belle back to the present. "A little whitewash and some practical carpentry and it'll be quite nice." Belle looked around the dark little apartment and tried to imagine what Papa was trying to describe. It definitely required some fixing, and Belle wasn't quite sure a layer of paint would make that much of a difference, but she was willing to be as optimistic as Papa and see what would happen.

"I'm going to put my things in my room," she announced, heaved her sack of belonging onto her shoulder like a tiny Pere Noel, and started down the small hallway to her new room. When Papa had told her they were moving into a small apartment, she wasn't sure what to expect. She had been afraid that she might not be able to have her own room in a place Papa only described to her as 'smaller' and had spent the nights worrying she might have to endure listening to her Papa's snores.

Her room was considerably smaller than her old room: there was space enough for her bed, a dresser, and a small nightstand, but not much else. One window above her bed provided the only light source which made it rather gloomy, but perhaps the whitewash her father mentioned would help that. And once she arranged her books on top of her dresser, she felt considerably more comfortable. She had always been a rather private person and having somewhere to go to be alone, even in this tiny room, was something she coveted. She took a few more minutes to hang her spare dress and rearrange her books before going to help Papa with the rest of the house.

"Got everything set up?" he asked as she reemerged into the main room.

"I think so," she replied. "What can I help with?"

"There isn't too much just now, my Belle. Why don't you go meet Clarice like I know you're dying to do and I'll see what I can't do with that door." As he spoke, Papa motioned to the front door that sagged in its hinges and made it very difficult to open and close.

"Papa, you know I don't mind helping out," she protested.

"You're so good to your Papa," he said, gently brushing her cheek with his hand. "Go on now. There will be plenty for you to do later, don't you worry," he laughed and fairly pushed her out the door. Belle allowed herself to be banished from her new apartment, eager to tell Clarice about the move. She hadn't seen her friend for the two weeks it took to pack up the old apartment and move into the new one, and Belle was eager to tell Clarice all about it.

* * *

"That doesn't sound too awful," Clarice said as they lay out the blanket in the park. "The way you were talking it sounded like you were anticipating a hole in the ground."

"I know, I know. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I'm glad I was wrong. It does need some work though."

"Well, of course it does," she replied matter-of-factly. "You can't expect to just go into a new place and have it perfect!" Belle smiled but knew Clarice had no idea how much work this new place required. She took a breath and tried to be more optimistic.

"It'll be fine. I'm glad we're still leaving near each other, at least."

"Definitely. Were you able to fit all of your things?"

"I had to get rid of most of my books," Belle confessed. "Miss Sybil has them now. And we had to sell most of Maman's things, though Papa packed a trunk of some of her things to keep. Apparently he's saving her wedding dress for when I get married."

"Bleh," Clarice exclaimed, sticking out her tongue. "Who wants to get _married_? I want to have as many adventures as I can!"

"Me too," Belle agreed wholeheartedly. It was one thing to enjoy the happy ending between a prince and his true love in a story, but that wasn't something Belle wanted for herself. Like Clarice, she wanted to go on adventures and see the world, not settle down before her life even started. She could certainly never see herself falling in love with anyone, not as long as there were adventures to be had.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you all for such wonderful reviews! I'm so flattered to see people who have read my first fan fic coming over to read this one as well! Keep on reading and I'll keep on writing!_

* * *

Belle's POV

"I'm back, Belle," Papa's voice came from the doorway. Belle looked up from her book to watch her father shuffle wearily across the floor, stowing his toolbox below the window before collapsing into his old worn armchair. Since they had moved into the smaller apartment, Papa had taken up work as a carpenter to pay their rent. Every day Papa would go off to fix something or build something for someone else, and every day he would come in more tired than the day before.

"Supper's almost ready, Papa," she said as her father sunk into his chair. It made her heart break to see her father work himself so hard. She wished there was something she could do for him; she even tried getting a job in several shops including Miss Sybil's bookstore, but times were hard and few people were hiring. And nearly no one needed a fifteen year old girl who's only real skills were reading and badly sewing patches in dresses she had grown too big for.

"That's good," he sighed and leaned his head back on the chair. She knew her father hated working for other people, fixing things they broke or building things they didn't need. He was talented at it, that couldn't be disputed, but Belle knew he hated it. His real passion was inventing, but he hadn't touched his sketchpad in years now.

"Papa?"

"Mhm?"

"Why don't you invent your machines, anymore?"

"Not enough hours in the day, my Belle," he said, lifting his head long enough to smile tiredly at her as he replied. Belle returned her gaze to her book, but found herself too distracted to read the words in front of her. She hated to think of her Papa working ten, eleven, twelve hours a day at work he hated to earn such horrible wages. He tried to keep it from her, but Belle knew he barely made enough to pay for the apartment and their food. She was so proud of him for trying, but there had to be something better for him.

Belle distracted herself from these somber thoughts as she served dinner for her and Papa. She had gotten quite a bit better at cooking over the six years they had lived at the apartment. With no one to help her as Maria had, Belle had to quickly recall the meager lessons she received looking over Maria's shoulder. But Papa had not complained, even when she horribly burned dinner one night when she was eleven. And if she allowed herself a bit of pride, she had gotten quite good since then.

"I've got an early morning," Papa said as they ate. "So don't worry about breakfast for me."

"You're working too much, Papa," she protested. "Isn't there anything I can do to help?"

"Don't worry, my Belle. You should enjoy your childhood before it's gone. You'll be sixteen soon and thinking about men and then I'll lose you."

"You don't have to worry about that, Papa," she said, not bothering to hide her disgust. "I have no interest in men before I've had my adventures, and they have no interest in me." Though if she were honest, she was too deeply buried in her books to notice if anyone looked at her as she walked down the streets.

"Then I shall lose you to your adventures, then," her Papa amended with a smile. "Either way, you are not to be bothered with my problems."

"All right, Papa," she smiled and the subject was dropped.

* * *

Beast's POV

Six years had passed, and not a single ray of hope shone to signal the end of the curse upon him. His sixteenth birthday had come and gone and his twenty-first drew still closer, like a great black cloud signaling his eternal doom. Since his first few months as a Beast, his life had hardly changed. He had returned triumphant to the castle after his first battle with the wolf and he continued to hunt amongst the trees. Boar, deer, whatever he might find, he dragged up to the West Wing and devoured, leaving the bones scattered about the floor. Soon his West Wing looked like the den of a great predator, for that is what it had become, and he lived willingly amongst the scattered bones and stench of death. He was sure he drove the servants mad with the mess he made, but he didn't care. He was a Beast, and as such he did not care for the worries of others.

He hadn't even talked to any of his servants in quite a long while. Occasionally he would see them in the halls on his way in or out of the castle, but he rarely talked to anyone and no one dared talk to him except for Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, or Lumiere. They were the only ones brave enough to try, even though his reception was consistently less than inviting. Still, however isolated he might truly be, it was nice to know that there were creatures inside his castle who still insisted on speaking to him.

The Beast needed that company very desperately just under a year ago. He had been in search of his dinner one early evening in spring when his keen nose caught the scent of something different amongst the trees. Curious, he went in search of it, following the scent like some massive hound dog.

It wasn't long before he found the source of the scent and immediately he wished he hadn't have been so curious. Just a few yards away were three travelers, evidently very lost. Hardly anyone traveled through that forest, and no one ever strayed from the well-marked paths. But what sent him hiding behind tree with his heart pounding was that one of the travelers was a _girl_.

Was this his chance? Could this be the girl who would break the spell over him? He took several deep breaths and tried to calm his wildly beating heart. What could he say to this girl to get her to love him? She was obviously lost with her two companions; perhaps he could lead them back to the road. But if he did that, she would be gone and he would have lost his chance. Maybe he could try to talk to her? Whatever he had to do, he had to do it quickly before the girl and her companions moved too close to one of the nearby towns. He had never been to any of the towns and he could hardly start now.

He drew out of his hiding spot and stalked towards the three humans. Quickly, his eyes darted between the two men with her and assessed that they had no obvious weapons. The next thing he noticed was that the two men appeared to be twins, leaving him to assume that the girl with them was their sister. But his most important observation was that the girl appeared to be around his own age and, even better, was incredibly beautiful. He wasn't sure if this made him feel more terrified or not.

Deciding he had to act _now_, he slunk forwards to try and perhaps talk to the girl. He got within a few yards of them before they noticed his hulking presence. As he predicted, the two men stood defensively in front of the girl, preventing the Beast from getting to her. This was hardly an issue though; over the past six years he had gotten quite good at dispatching his targets. And he had grown several feet during that time, putting him well over nine feet tall; what had he to fear from creatures so much smaller than he? Being careful not to seriously harm them, the Beast knocked them unconscious with his massive paws. Unfortunately, this caused the girl to start screaming and the Beast shook his head to drive the piercing sound out of his ears.

"You stay away from me!" she shrieked. He had expected this too, but it still hurt his heart to hear it and to see the terror in her face. It occurred to him that this was the first human interaction he had since the traveler tried to kill him shortly after he was transformed. This interaction wasn't going much better, but at least no one had tried to murder him yet.

"I won't hurt you," he grunted and took another step towards her.

"No, please!" she shrieked and fell to the ground in a ball. The Beast watched her shake in fear and he realized that he could never do anything to ease the fears of this terrified woman.

"Look at me," he demanded roughly, growling so his sorrow would not show in his voice. "Look at me, I said!" The girl's face looked slowly up at him, but he noticed she could not meet his eyes. "The road is that way," he told her, pointing east into the trees. "You will be on your way as soon as these men wake."

"W-what are you?" she stammered and the Beast had to restrain himself from striking her for such rudeness. Instead he merely turned and ran back the way he had come, away from the humans who proved so useless and towards the sanctuary of his West Wing. How could he have been so stupid to think he might have earned the girl's favor? She couldn't even _look_ at him, let alone love him. What else could he have expected?

He burst through the doors of his castle and bolted up the carpeted stairs as fast as his paws could manage. Ignoring the confused calls of Mrs. Potts and Lumiere as he passed, the Beast continued upwards through the dark halls until he reached the doors of his rooms. The Beast slammed them shut behind him, securing his solitude. . .and his loneliness.

He slammed his fist against a nearby table, making its legs give and sending it collapsing to the floor. As he moved from object to object, sending each one scattering across the floor or exploding into splinters, he roared in his anger. He was sure the servants could hear him and would be worried about what his latest explosion of anger could mean, but he didn't care. Why shouldn't they know that the situation they were in was hopeless? He had finally found a girl who dared to venture near his castle, and she was too terrified of him to speak never mind come to the castle and learn to love him? What was he to do, drag her by the hair back to the castle, leaving her brothers lying lost in the forest while he tried to woo her? He was not so cruel or so desperate that he would do that. At least, not yet.

He could feel himself changing nearly daily, his already hardened soul reverting more and more into the darkness of the Beast. Someday he might be a Beast altogether, leaving no trace of what he used to be. The thought terrified him, sending his rage spiraling into horror and leaving him to cower in a corner. Only four years remained before the enchantment would become permanent. Four years and he would remain a Beast for the rest of his life. And if he continued to lose himself to the Beast as he had been, there would be nothing left of him to mourn what he once had, what he could possibly never have had again.

* * *

A soft knock came from the door and the Beast raised his head at the sound. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting in the corner of his room, but his stiff muscles told him it had been a few hours at least.

"What?" he grunted, just loud enough for whoever was outside the door to hear him.

"It's Mrs. Potts. May I come in?" The Beast was silent, but apparently Mrs. Potts decided to take that as his assent to enter his rooms. By means still unknown to him, the teapot pushed the door open and hopped inside. The Beast watched as she looked about the mess of a room for him, waiting for her to locate him herself. "What's wrong, Master?" she asked when she finally spotted him.

"Nothing," he grunted and turned his head away.

"Not from the way you barreled through here earlier. You haven't acted like that in years," she retaliated and the Beast almost smiled at her gumption. Though the Beast could easily crush her tiny porcelain body, Mrs. Potts was still the only one who dared scold him and, though he'd never admit to it, he appreciated her concern for him.

"I met a girl in the woods," he growled after a moment spent considering if he should tell her what happened.

"A—a girl?" Mrs. Potts asked carefully.

"Yes. She was terrified of me. She wouldn't even look at me. She might have been my only chance, and she couldn't even look at me," he moaned and held his head in his hands.

"Don't lose heart, Master. I know it looks bleak, but there's still hope. You mustn't give up. Not yet," she tried to comfort him. The Beast was aware of her kind words, but chose not to acknowledge them for fear his voice might give away the fear that was still stirring inside him. After a moment he could hear her hop away. Only when the sounds had faded did he dare look up at where she had been standing. Perhaps she was right; there were still four years. Anything could happen in four years.

The Beast stood and went over to where the glowing rose floated. Seeing that it was still full and blooming, he turned to the mirror that lay beside it. "Show me the girl in the forest," he demanded. Immediately the mirror's surface glowed brightly and showed him the girl he had encountered just a few hours ago. She was helping one of her brothers to his feet while the other one held his head in his hands. It was obvious the two men were suffering from severe headaches, but the Beast had done no more damage than that. He watched as the girl then told her brothers all that had happened. He could hear her explain how a Beast attacked them and tried to speak with her, and how this fearsome creature told her how to find the road again. The men laughed at her and called her a fool, but in the end followed the direction the Beast had indicated.

The Beast put down the mirror and the image disappeared. He was torturing himself by trying to see some sort of kindness when the girl spoke of him, but in her face was nothing but fear and disgust. Perhaps she wasn't meant to be the girl who would break the spell, but if not her then who?

* * *

Belle's POV

"What is it?" Belle asked as Clarice giggled. They had been walking down the market streets of Paris and Belle was enjoying watching the people run busily about their business. Though she would rather be inside her books, it was enjoyable to imagine herself narrating their lives in her head as though she were writing their stories. Clarice's giggle drew Belle from her odd reverie, however, and Belle struggled to see what she was laughing at.

"Nothing," her friend replied hurriedly. "Let's go this way." Belle shrugged and continued to walk in the direction Clarice indicated. They continued walking for a few more minutes, dodging around the people as Clarice drew Belle onwards. It was clear she was intent on following something, but she wouldn't answer any of Belle's questions.

"Quick, here!" she said, diving towards an apple cart.

"Apples?" Belle asked as Clarice picked up an apple to examine it very closely. As Belle watched her curiously, wondering what on earth had gotten into her, Belle noticed that Clarice's gaze was not on the apple but on a fixed point some yards down the street. She sighed when she finally realized what Clarice had been looking at. "Who's that?" she asked nonchalantly, though every fiber of her was dying to know why Clarice was staring and giggling at a man who kept glancing in their direction. Perhaps 'man' was being too generous: he looked like he was seventeen or eighteen years old and was rather handsome, if scrawny and peevish-looking could be considered handsome.

"Who's who?" Clarice evaded, but Belle gave her a look that told Clarice she was having none of this nonsense and to give her the details now, please. "I honestly don't know. He's been glancing over at me almost since we got here."

"Well, he's giving me the creeps. Can't we just go to the bookstore now?"

"All you ever do is read," Clarice complained and Belle had to stop her eyes from widening in surprise.

"That's all you ever do, too," Belle reminded her rather impatiently.

"Well maybe I'm beginning to understand that there are some things more important than reading, Belle," Clarice sighed and turned her attention to the boy. "Do you think I should go say hello?"

"I guess," Belle muttered but no longer had an interest in this conversation. It was clear Clarice's priorities had begun to change and to be honest Belle was feeling a bit left out. It wasn't long ago that Clarice vowed with Belle to go on adventures like the characters in their stories before settling down. While what they had planned—finding genies and sailing with pirates for buried treasure—were now childish and impossible, Belle still dreamed of traveling the world and having real adventures. Obviously Clarice was finding something else to dream about.

Belle watched as her friend went to shyly walk towards the boy who had his eye on her. She would never engage him in conversation first, of that Belle was sure, but as she looked on she noticed it didn't take the boy long to approach Clarice himself. Soon, they were locked in conversation and Belle was sure she had been all but forgotten. Clarice would not soon leave her new interest, so Belle sighed and made her way towards Miss Sybil's shop.

Clarice was Belle's only true friend in a world that scorned women for reading books. That had never bothered Belle before, but now she realized how the loss of that one friend made her feel incredibly lonely. Belle had never been very good at making friends; all her life she had tried to be good and kind as her parents taught her, but only Clarice was able to embrace Belle for who she was. Only Clarice could stand listening to Belle go on about the latest story she read, or what certain Greek philosophers had to say on a certain subject, or a thousand different things she had learned from a thousand different books. But now that Clarice began to change her priorities, Belle was inclined to feel a bit sorry for herself.

Papa had warned her that this might happen; Belle and Clarice were getting older, and thereby would attract a different sort of attention from boys their age. Papa didn't go into much detail about this, but Belle had read enough on the subject to know that she would rather not go through all that nonsense just to be tied down with a husband and saddled with children before she was eighteen. Not that she didn't want that someday, but certainly not anytime soon. And most definitely not as quickly as Clarice seemed to.

Belle picked out a few books from Miss Sybil's and went to one of her favorite spots in the nearby park, but she couldn't concentrate on the pages in front of her. Maman had been a lonely person too, at least according to Papa, but she had been able to have quite an exciting career teaching children. Perhaps Belle could follow her lead, at least for awhile. It wasn't Belle's dream to spend her days teaching children how to read and write, but it wouldn't be all that bad either and would certainly keep Belle from being so lonely in Clarice's absence. And once she had enough money, she would be able to leave Paris and go on any sort of adventure she wanted.

Filled with new purpose, Belle went home to change into her best (or at least less patched) dress and seek out the families of the children that Maman used to teach. Of course by this time those children would have grown, but perhaps they knew other families who needed a tutor like Belle. It was worth a try, and if she succeeded not only would she be able to save up for her still ambiguous journeys, but having some sort of income might help ease Papa's workload. _Why_ hadn't she thought of this before? It was perfect! If it all worked out, that is.

Grabbing a couple of her Maman's tutoring books that were too old and battered to sell with the others, Belle made her way out of the apartment with high spirits, her loneliness at Clarice's desertion completely forgotten and her mind whirring at what might yet be.


	8. Chapter 8

Belle's POV

Belle had been tutoring for three upper class families for almost six months and had been able to save up a respectable bit of money, even after helping Papa out with their food expenses. He had fought her on this matter for quite some time, insisting that she should not have to work to support her father. But Belle was stubborn, even more so than her father, and won the right to contribute to their food purchases. She was not able to make Papa let her buy _all_ the food for the apartment, but Belle was secretly a little glad about that since it meant she could save some aside for her future adventures.

But she still had a long way to go, so Belle continued to tutor the children of the three families who had agreed to take her on. She had received the references of only one of the families her mother had taught, but it had been enough. Now she was in charge of the education of four children: two twin five year old boys name Luke and Steven, a six year old girl called Collette, and a six year old boy named Jean.

Of the four of them, only Collette had any siblings who were not under Belle's charge: an older brother of seventeen years named Gustave. Belle had a few conversations with Gustave, at least enough to know that he was a doting older brother who wanted his sister to succeed. Apparently he had wanted to help his sister to learn her letters and numbers himself, but their parents insisted he focus on his own studies to become a lawyer. It would be a lie to say that Belle was not impressed by him; to become a lawyer was a very prestigious thing, and his kindness towards his sister was endearing. But Belle made sure to keep her focus on her work, and not on Gustave's shockingly beautiful green eyes.

Even though Belle had been spending dozens of hours a week with her new students, she had still been able to steal a few precious hours with Clarice. The boy from the market had apparently taken a liking to Clarice, as he had not left her alone since the day the two of them had met. In fact, Belle could hardly see Clarice without Henry clinging to her side like a lost puppy. Belle sighed and adjusted her thoughts; she did not dislike Henry, but she was a bit resentful that he took so much of Clarice's time up. She was lucky if she could catch an hour or two alone with Clarice, and their daily reading session all but disappeared. According to Clarice, Henry did not mind his chosen lady's hobby of reading which Belle considered lucky for him, since if he had forbidden Clarice her favorite pastime Belle would have more than a few words to say about that. But it was Clarice who would rather spend time with Henry than with Belle at their favorite reading nook in the park. It was clear that things between her and Clarice would never be the same, and Belle's heart broke at the very thought.

Belle came out of her thoughts to knock on the door to the beautiful town house that belonged to Collette's family and wiped at a bead of sweat as it trickled down her forehead. It was nice to have the warm weather back, but the summer heat made the long walks to the children's homes uncomfortable. The door before her opened and she was greeted by the butler.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle Belle," he greeted her formally and Belle grinned at him. It was quite a thing for her to be called 'mademoiselle' by someone's butler.

"Good afternoon, Charles," she replied when she could be sure she wouldn't giggle. Charles smiled and winked at her as he closed the door behind her. Charles had been very kind to her since she first started tutoring Collette and had made her feel at least a bit comfortable inside the richly furnished house with his easy smile and kind words. The maid, on the other hand, was no so sweet. Angelique would often interrupt Belle's lessons to unnecessarily offer tea or to clean something in the room and Belle got the distinct impression that Angelique did not trust her. Perhaps it was because the people Belle worked for were so wealthy; Angelique might have decided the girl in the patched dress would be tempted to steal something. The very thought of it insulted Belle, so she merely did her best to try and be kind to the distrusting maid.

"Collette is in the sitting room, Mademoiselle," Charles said and led her towards the familiar door down the hall directly underneath a very large and very beautiful sparkling chandelier. Belle hardly needed to be led about the house anymore, having been coming twice a week for six months now, but Belle understood that it was part of a butler's duty to lead about guests. Charles even opened the doors for her, which made Belle feel very grand indeed. Perhaps a little uncomfortable, but for only two days a week Belle learned to enjoy the discomfort of such grandness.

"Bonjour, Belle!" she heard just before a tiny pair of arms wrapped themselves forcefully around Belle's waist.

"Oomph! Bonjour, Collette," Belle replied to the tiny blonde clinging to her. "Have you been keeping up with your spelling as I told you?"

"Mostly," the girl said and released Belle to give her a sheepish grin. "Gustave made me do more than I wanted."

"Well I'm glad you have a brother who will look out for you like that," Belle remarked. "Gather your things and we'll get started." Collette rushed to do as Belle asked and Belle couldn't help but smile. Belle adored all the children she taught, but as the only girl and a complete sweetheart, Collette quickly became Belle's favorite.

It was much harder than Belle expected to teach these children their letters and numbers, but she enjoyed seeing their pleasure when they read a difficult word for the first time or solved a new equation. Belle still longed for adventures out in the world, of course, but in the meantime this was quite a pleasant, if a bit challenging, occupation. The hardest part of it was keeping up with the boys she taught, all of whom were rowdy and inclined not to pay attention. They were great fun and Belle loved their playfulness, but it was a bit tiresome when the wouldn't sit for their lessons. Collette was much more attentive, at least most of the time, and did not take up so much of Belle's energy which was a godsend on a hot day like today.

She and Collette went through the lesson Belle had planned for the day. Collette was a clever little thing and went through spelling, mathematics, and geography over the course of a few hours. Collette was improving greatly and Belle was proud of her progress.

"You're doing so well, Collette!" Belle praised as their session came to a close. "Soon you'll grow too smart for me!"

"I doubt that will ever happen. You're the most intelligent person I know," a voice came from the doorway. Belle and Collette both looked up to see Collette's brother Gustave leaning against the doorframe.

"Bonjour, Gustave," Belle said as steadily as she could. She always felt so odd whenever Gustave was nearby, as if her stomach was trying to tie itself in knots.

"My mother wanted me to give this to you," Gustave said and walked across the room to sit in the chair besides Belle, handing an envelope to her while Belle tried her hardest not to blush. "It's your wages for this week. And she also wanted me to tell you that you're doing a wonderful job. Almost as good as your mother did with me," he added with a wink.

"T-thank you," she stammered as she took the envelope from his hands. Their fingers bumped and this time Belle felt her cheeks burn.

"What's wrong with your face, Belle?" Collette asked innocently, drawing Belle abruptly out of the power of Gustave's green eyes. Belle laughed easily and gently pulled at one of Collette's blonde curls.

"Nothing, ma cherie. Be sure to practice what we've done until I come back next week," Belle said to the girl and made a hasty retreat for the door.

"Wait!" she heard Gustave's voice call to her. Belle paused, almost at the front door. She was terrified of staying, not wanting to embarrass herself further, but she let his voice stop her all the same. She watched as he drew level with her and struggled to keep herself from blushing again. "I was wondering if I could perhaps come call on you sometime," he said as he stood rather too close to her. His words were confident which intimidated Belle and the smile that played on his lips sent doubt invading her terrified mind.

"I. . ." she started, her hands shaking so much she nearly dropped her books. Was Gustave truly asking to call on her outside of her biweekly visits to his sister? Yes, she had been caught up in his beautiful green eyes and attentive nature, but now that she was confronted with the reality of having this boy call on her it was something different altogether. "No, thank you," she said quickly and fled from the house without another word. She made her way as quickly as she could manage down the busy streets of Paris and towards the home of the only person she thought could discuss the terrifying events with: Clarice.

"You said _no_?" Clarice said in clear disbelief half an hour later. Belle had arrived at her door, gasping from her flight through the city, and relayed the entire story to her. "Why did you say no?"

"I was scared," Belle admitted shamefully. "And besides, he barely even knows me beyond hello and goodbye. What made him think that he wants to _court_ me?"

"Because you're beautiful, of course," Clarice replied quickly, as if it should be obvious to Belle. Belle shook her head, dismissing her friend's words. Papa often told her she was beautiful, in his kind and caring way, and when she was a small child doting friends of the family would tell her what a lovely young woman she would grow up to be. But Belle never really considered her own appearance beyond setting her hair in order and other basic hygiene routines. And she certainly didn't consider her alleged beauty to be any serious reason to want to court her.

"Well, you're just going to have to get over that, now aren't you?" Clarice said when Belle confessed all this to her. "I'm surprised this is the first man to ask you, to be honest. You'll have lots more beaus begging for your heart before too long."

"But I don't want them," Belle protested.

"Nonsense, what girl doesn't want boys chasing after her?"

"Me," Belle replied hotly. "I just want to make enough money to go and see the world. You're the one that's chasing beaus, not me."

"Well, I am sixteen now. Why not? And you'll be sixteen soon, too. If you don't find someone in the next few years you'll become an old maid!"

"There are worse things," Belle muttered. In her opinion, sixteen was far too young to be in danger of becoming an old maid. Men got to marry whenever they wanted, for heaven's sake. Though that was often because they went on to further their education and do something great with their lives before they wanted to think about marriage.

"Listen, if you don't want Gustave that's one thing, but don't dismiss the whole institution," Clarice responded and Belle thought she heard a note of anger in her friend's voice.

"Clarice, are you. . ." Belle started and to finish her thought, Clarice held up her left hand to display a simple golden band on her third finger.

"Henry and I are engaged!" she exclaimed.

"Oh," Belle started quietly. "Oh!" she amended and hugged Clarice enthusiastically. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Are you? After all that you just said, are you really happy for me?"

"Of course I am," Belle insisted. "Just because I'm a coward doesn't me I can't be happy for you." And for the first time in Belle's memory, Belle lied to Clarice. Well, perhaps not _exactly_ a lie. It was a very exciting thing for Clarice to be taking such a big step, but Belle couldn't help but wonder if it was the _right_ step. She was only _just_ sixteen, after all, and she had only known Henry for six months. But Clarice seemed so very happy, and that's all that really mattered.

"I'll need your help, of course," Clarice continued and it was clear that the remainder of Belle's visit would be discussing Clarice's imminent wedding.

* * *

"What's wrong, my Belle?" she heard Papa ask sometime later. Belle had returned home after an exhausting conversation with Clarice and immediately dove into her books, but found her mind kept jumping back to Gustave and his awful question, then to Clarice and her new future. As a result, she had been unintentionally all but ignoring her father.

"Nothing, Papa," she said. She didn't want to worry him, not with his carpentry work wearing on him more and more each day.

"Come on now. If you can't tell your Papa who can you tell?" he pressed gently, coming to sit beside her on the worn out sofa. Belle looked at her father, so willing to help and so clearly concerned for her. He was right: if she couldn't talk to him, then there was no one else. Not now that Clarice was apparently growing up faster and much differently than Belle was. So she related the whole story to her father. Originally she hadn't planned to tell her father about Gustave, but it all just spilled passed her lips as she unburdened her worries. _Why_ did Gustave want to court her? Was it really only because she was beautiful as Clarice said? And how could Clarice get married after all their talks of having adventures and seeing the world? It wasn't _right_ that she should be getting married so soon. . .And on and on she went until she was quite out of breath. And Papa listened to her quietly, allowing her to say all that she needed to. When she was through, Papa waited a moment before taking her hand and patting it lovingly.

"You're certainly growing up, aren't you?" he asked, almost as if to himself. "I wish your mother was here to help with this, but since it's just me we'll have to make do." He took a breath and smiled at her. "You and Clarice have been friends for a long time, and your worlds are changing. You two could always be friends, but it seems like Clarice is just finding a new path for herself."

"But she said that I'll be an old maid soon," Belle practically wailed. It shouldn't have bothered her as much as it was, but she couldn't help herself. The few old maids she found in the fairy tales were lonely creatures who could only long for a happiness they could never have. What if she ended up like them?

"Nonsense," Papa said so sternly that Belle was taken aback. "You are fifteen years old, there's still plenty of time for all that. You hold out for love, my Belle, for as long as it takes. Don't you ever settle for someone you don't love just to keep from being an old maid. You hear me?"

"Y-yes, Papa," Belle said, though she didn't quite understand why her father had grown so serious so suddenly. "Is something wrong, Papa?"

"No, Belle. I just—I just don't want you to marry the wrong man. I want my Belle to be happy," he said with a smile. "You should do what you love and be with who you love, and the rest will fall into place."

"Did it fall into place with you and Maman?" Belle asked, guessing that what Papa was saying came from experience.

"Eventually," Papa all but chuckled. "We had our troubles, but once we both realized how much we loved each other, nothing else mattered."

"What kind of troubles?"

"Nothing to worry yourself over," Papa dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Now, about this Gustave. It might be best to apologize for running off on him next time you see him to keep your work with Collette from being too awkward."

"So you don't think I should've said yes?"

"Well, aside from the fact I am not ready for you to begin keeping a beau, if you didn't want him to court you then that's the end of it," Papa replied unsteadily. Belle could see that her father was becoming uncomfortable with the topic at hand, so she leaned forward to kiss his cheek, thanked him for his help, and started preparing supper for them. Her mind wasn't quite at ease yet, but she felt better knowing that she was following her heart. Still she knew it wouldn't be easy to return to Collette's home and make amends with Gustave. She sighed heavily and focused her mind on less bothersome things.


	9. Chapter 9

Beast's POV

The weeks passed despite the Beast's desperate wishes for time to stop. Three years and six months remained to him now; he loathed how he now counted out the months till his twenty-first year. Soon he would be marking off the weeks, then mere days, and he was no closer to finding the end of the enchantment than he was his first year as a Beast. The rose still stood full and beautiful, but the Beast knew that all too soon it would start to shed its petals. Day by day he grew more strongly convinced that he was doomed to remain in that Beastly form. He was seventeen now; if he were human, he would have been a man, as strong and handsome as one of his station should be. He might have even had a fiancée by now. But as this monster, he had nothing but fur and fangs and a strength someone with his temper should not have access to.

Lately he had been consoling his foul mood by running through the forest to battle any animal he came across. It didn't help him feel any less like a Beast, quite the opposite in fact but it cooled his temper enough to keep him from doing anything he might regret more, such as harming his servants. It might be partially their fault this curse came upon them all, but he knew he would never forgive himself if one of them came to harm because of his bouts of rage. And so the wolves and small bears of the forest suffered instead.

It wasn't as though he _provoked_ these battles, he reasoned when his conscience told him killing these animals was wrong. The carnivorous animals always attacked first, though that might very well have been simply because of the nearness of a creature like him. Whatever the reason was, the Beast was getting quite skilled at protecting himself from the animals of the forest.

During the high summer months of his seventeenth year, the Beast spent most of his time in the forests _protecting_ himself from the dangerous animals. Part of him was worried that doing so might make him succumb to the Beast more quickly, but spending the countless hours in a castle that he once wandered as a Prince with a family and human companions was becoming increasingly painful for him. So he continued hunting and wandering about until the forests he had once been so afraid of as a boy became as familiar to him as the halls of his castle.

While wandering aimlessly through his forest one summer's afternoon, he heard the familiar growl of a bear echo quite nearby him. Itching for something to do, the Beast went in search of the bear. He had tackled bears before; they were rather a small sort of bear, but the Beast doubted there were much larger ones to be found in his forest. But as he rounded the trunk of a great oak, he discovered that he had been very wrong.

The bear he had come upon was _massive_, nearly as tall as he was but twice as broad. If he though he had anything much to live for, the Beast might have turned tail and fled. But nothing came to mind that should keep him from doing something so reckless, so he gathered himself up and pounced towards the growling bear.

It was fast, despite its size, and sent the Beast sprawling before he could get a good swing in. But the Beast was used to being battered about now and it only took a moment for him to recover from the blow. He came back at the animal with a fierce swipe of his own, cutting into the bear's flesh with his claws. The bear roared and attacked the Beast with renewed strength.

The Beast was not sure how long the battle lasted; it was difficult to judge time when he was lost in the heat of a battle, when his mind was furthest from his own misery. His adrenaline pumped through his veins and made him more powerful than he ever had before. He decided to taunt the bear a little to draw out the fight he felt he was easily winning, swiping at the bear from behind and leaping forward so the bear would contact nothing but air. He did this several times before the bear anticipated his attack and intercepted the Beast, catching him full in the chest and knocking the wind out of him.

He lay in the dirt for a moment, winded and in a surprising amount of pain, before the bear pounced on him. The Beast threw it off and decided he had enough of this game. He attacked the bear with a renewed strength, driving it backwards until it was pinned against a tree. The Beast pounced one last time and dispatched the bear quickly by dashing its heads against the tree's thick trunk. When the bear was still, the Beast caught his breath and took stock of what had happened.

The bear had caught his chest with its claws, but it was only a few small scratches and they weren't bleeding badly. Really it was no worse than the wound he earned from the traveler shortly after the enchantment fell up on him, but he was no longer the whimpering boy and was now able to dismiss such pain as insignificant. The more important thing was that the bear he had done battle with was dead; it was his biggest victory since becoming the Beast and he was inclined to feel rather pleased with himself. His chest swelled in pride and he let loose a triumphant roar that sent the birds flying from their branches. He felt like a king, able to take on the fiercest creatures of the forest.

But what about the creatures _beyond_ the edges of the forest? What about the humans who ignored his existence, even when he was human himself? When his father left shortly after his mother and sister died, somehow he had been cut off from the rest of the world; no one visited, no one wrote. Nothing. And he decided that this was the time to finally do something about it.

In the back of his mind, he knew how dangerous this would be. He was about to draw attention to himself in the biggest way possible, solely for the sake of revenge on the villagers who chose to ignore his existence. But it was a risk he felt he would be willing to take if only for the satisfaction of frightening a few of the heartless villagers.

Filled with purpose and determination, the Beast ran through the trees to the east where the main road led to the nearest village. He did not directly follow the road of course, but rather ran several feet to the side of it so he could follow its direction but might not be seen by any unfortunate travelers along the way.

It did not take him long to reach the small village that stood on the outskirts of his forest. What made him pause on the fringes of the trees was his own uncertainty about what he intended to do. Was he to charge in headlong into the streets of the town before him? Or should he try to find some more isolated men to taunt? Deciding on the latter, the Beast skirted the edge where the town's boarders hugged the forest until he came up on the fields of corn and wheat. Luck was with him; there were four men working in the fields together far enough away from the village that there wouldn't be anyone else to come and aid the men. The Beast inched out of the trees and towards the men, crouched behind the growing crops, and planned his attack. He wouldn't kill these men, he decided, but perhaps he could scare them enough that they would take the tale back to their village and earn him some sort of recognition he was denied before.

As he prepared to pounce upon the unsuspecting men however, his ears picked up a sound from just the other edge of the field that struck him as eerily familiar. Distracted by this, he left the men to their work and went in search of the sound. As he drew closer, the sound became clearer and he was able to recognize it as a woman singing. The song forced forward an image of his human childhood through the animal thoughts and senses that crowded his mind. He shook his head against the unwanted memory of his mother holding him in her lap, soothing him after he tripped in the gardens.

The Beast moved forward in the fields until he came to its edge, just before he would be seen by anyone but far enough that he could see past the crops. Through the stalks of wheat he was able to make out the image of a woman sitting cross-legged on the ground by the fields with a small child sitting in her lap. He watched as the woman sang to her child, her voice ringing clear and beautiful amongst the wildflowers and sweet grass that grew beyond the worked fields. Her voice was very lovely, but her song brought him the pain of his mother singing a similar song to him as his small child's fingers pecked at the keys of a piano. It seemed impossible that he, the Beast who had just conquered a bear, had a mother who had loved him and past that allowed so lovely a song to remain in his memory. Such a thing made him feel ashamed that he was trying to provoke a battle between him and these men, that he so senselessly murdered a bear just an hour before.

Unable to endure listening to such loveliness for another moment, the Beast tore his way back through the fields and into the cover of his forest once more. He continued galloping through the trees until the familiar walls of his darkened castle rose up to meet him. The castle that had once been his mother's favorite place among all their homes to stay, the castle she died in. He burst through its doors and shut them against the humanity that hurt him so. This was the castle of a Beast now; there was no room for so human a thought as a mother long lost to him now.

Despite this, the Beast felt his heart breaking all over again. He went to seek solace in his rooms but for the first time in the six years of suffering the enchantment, he found his rooms held no comfort for him. In frustration, he returned downstairs and found himself seeking the comfort of the same sitting room his father often frequented. He sat heavily in the armchair that stood waiting before the warm fire and gazed into the dancing flames that stood before him, allowing his mind to wander as it would, so long as it stayed away from thoughts of his mother and his human past.

"Master?" he heard minutes later from the doorway. He did not look at the speaker, knowing it was Mrs. Potts coming to talk with him as she often tried to when he came in with a foul temper. "Master, is everything all right?" He heard her hop closer. "Oh, goodness! You're hurt!"

"It's nothing," he grunted, wiping at the scratch across his chest he had forgotten about. Normally he would have licked his wounds, a practice he had picked up after his many battles in the forest, but the placement of the wound was too awkward for him to reach.

"Are you comfortable here, Master?" she asked hesitantly and the Beast heard what she was truly trying to say. Why was he down here instead of in the West Wing?

"Yes," he grunted, but offered no explanation.

"Very well," she replied and began to hop out.

"I'll be needing something for dinner tonight, also," he added just before she left the room. He hadn't eaten anything that day, having failed to find something eatable to hunt in the forest and frankly did not want to go back. He never wanted to venture into the trees again.

"I—_Really_?" Mrs. Potts asked, her words filled with astonishment and confusion.

"Yes. We do have food here, don't we?" he snapped in reply.

"Yes, of course. But does that mean you won't be hunting any longer?"

"I'm tired of it," he grunted but did not elaborate. He distinctly heard Mrs. Potts sigh and his acute ears picked up the words '_thank goodness' _as she hopped away. Whenever she got the chance, Mrs. Potts would often ask him to stop hunting and battling in the forest, but the Beast never heeded her pleas. If he was lucky, he would be able let her think it was her countless lectures that led him to stop visiting the forest.

He didn't have long to wait, but even so he grew impatient as his stomach began to grumble. It was surprising that he even had an appetite after the day's misadventures, but when a tray wheeled into the room of its own accord the Beast's mouth watered at the smell. In his hunger, he didn't even wait for the tray to stop by his chair before he dove towards it eagerly. He shoveled the food from the plate with his massive paws, hardly tasting it as he devoured the meal he was provided. He had forgotten how wonderful the warmth of cooked meat was as it filled his stomach. What he didn't realize was the terrible mess he was making of himself. It was one thing to devour an animal when he had no more desire than to act the animal himself. But when presented with the proper place setting designed for a human, he realized how unsuited he was to eating like a man.

"Master?" Mrs. Potts asked and the Beast nearly jumped, not realizing she was there and suddenly afraid of what she thought of his less than delicate manner of eating. He sat back in his chair with a huff and looked around at the mess he made.

"What?" he growled, daring her to comment on his mess.

"Can I get you any more?" she asked but he noticed her hesitation and guessed what she had just stopped herself from saying.

"Yes," he grunted and continued his brutish way of eating. He tried to feel no shame as he ate, but the unused silverware waiting on his tray seemed to silently mock him. The Beast snatched them up in his paws and flung them across the room. He watched as they bounced off the wall and lay still for a moment before picking themselves up and fleeing the room. Watching what should be perfectly inanimate objects move around on their own was still disconcerting. Though to be fair he had not spent much time around them to get used to such occurrences.

Another tray full of food rolled through the doors to the sitting room, quickly followed by Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, and Cogsworth. He was eager to gorge himself on more of the deliciously cooked meat, but was enraged to find that they had supplied him with another set of silverware. Couldn't they see that his paws were unsuited to using such tiny artifacts?

"What is this?" he demanded, motioning to the tray. He was tempted to overturn it in his anger, but he wanted the food more.

"What is what, Master?" Lumiere asked, waving his flaming arms as he spoke.

"You expect me to be able to use these?" he bellowed, picking up the fresh set of silverware and tossing them in the same direction as the first set.

"I'm sorry, M-master," Cogsworth stammered and shooed the silverware out the door. "Perhaps I can get you something else?"

"No. Leave me!" he growled and heard their parts clatter as they shook in obvious fright. "And do not dare bring me anything like that again!" he added as his servants fled the room. He hoped they realized he meant the silverware that was meant only for a man's hands, for he did not want to give up such delicious meals he did not have to hunt for. He had forgotten how much simpler it was to have his meals made for him, but he would rather not be reminded of how his massive paws were incapable of handling such small utensils.

Alone again, he gnawed at the meat he was left as he reflected angrily on the day's events. The forest could no longer be called his sanctuary, not now that he made such a fool of himself by attacking animals he had no right to harm. But the castle was a torment for him as well, a reminder of all that he had lost even after eight years under this curse. The sitting room held no specific memories for him however, only the recollection that his father would use it when his closest friends would call on him. Not that his son would ever be privy to such meetings; as far as the prince's father was concerned, his son and heir did not need to be dealt with until he came of age.

The Beast had spent his human childhood peering around corners to see his father conduct his affairs of state while Mrs. Potts or one of his tutors was distracted. He often told himself that when he came of age his father would be proud of his son and they would run their lands side by side. But then the illness came to the castle and changed all of that.

Along with several of the servants including Mrs. Potts' husband, the illness took the prince's mother and sister. He was eight years old, hardly old enough to fully understand what had happened, and sought the comfort of his father. He found no comfort or answers from him though, and shortly after his mother and sister were buried, his father left his son behind in the summer castle for the family's main estate. At first he had been naïve enough to believe his father would send for him, but months passed without a word and he realized he was doomed to spend his life alone.

He had been a fool to think attacking the villagers outside the forest would bring him any sense of justice for what they had done to him, what his father had done to him. The only solace he would get was from his father directly, and that was impossible now.

Or maybe not so impossible. He had the mirror, after all and while he could not communicate through it perhaps he would be able to see his father and find some sort of consolation for his own pain. Pushing his decimated tray of food aside, he made his way up to the West Wing and towards the magic mirror. He hadn't touched the thing in years, the last use being to try to see who would be the one to break the spell he was under. It had shown him nothing, of course.

Before he could change his mind, the Beast snatched up the mirror from the small table by the balcony and demanded that it show him his father. The mirror glowed green for a moment before showing him a picture of an aging man sitting at a desk. He looked closer, carefully holding the small mirror in his massive paws.

The man the mirror showed him _looked_ like the father he remembered, but his face was lined and his hair was nearly white. Nothing like the strong young man captured in the portraits he made his servants destroy after his father left. Before him was a man beaten by the years, bogged down by the piles of papers illuminated by a single candle on his desk. It was clear the years had not been kind to his father and the Beast smiled wryly in grim satisfaction. His father's clear misery made him feel a bit justified for the years of confusion and pain he gone through because of that man.

Content with this new image of his father, he replaced the mirror and made his way onto the balcony. The castle was his by right; it was obvious this tired old man had no interest in taking claim in the Beast's home. What he told Mrs. Potts was true: he was done with the forest. It was the castle that was his true domain and he intended to keep it. He had been foolish to try and keep the forest for himself. He was no mindless wild animal, he was a Beast and as such deserved this dark castle for him to command. As for the enchantment, what real hope did he have to break it? He would have to be content as a Beast till the end of his days if that's what was to happen, but he would live out his cursed days in the assured sovereignty of his own castle. He would live out his lonely, miserable, cursed life within the castle walls and swore to protect his last sanctuary at all costs.

* * *

_I am SO sorry this took so long! I promise I hadn't forgotten to update or anything like that. Really I was working on this chapter, but it became very forced after a while which made it awful, so I had to set it aside for a bit. Even though I finally finished this chapter, I don't think I'm too happy with it. I'm probably going to go back and edit it a bit, so don't judge this one too harshly ok? Thanks for sticking in there with me!_

_Also, to those who are interested: no, the village the Beast visited was not the village where Belle will end up living later on. _


	10. Chapter 10

Belle's POV

Belle piled her books quickly as Collette skipped out of the room after their lesson. So far Belle had managed to avoid Gustave since their last unfortunate encounter, but she didn't want to tempt fate by lingering. She had nearly made it to the door, nearly avoided the awkward encounter she feared, but his voice stopped her just before she could escape.

"Belle?" he called. For a moment, Belle seriously considered slipping out the door without a word to him. She knew she couldn't do that to Gustave though, so she merely took a steadying breath and waited for him to approach her. As he drew closer, she clutched her books tightly to her chest and did her best not to blush. "I wanted to apologize for the other day," he continued when he was near her. Belle looked up at him as he spoke, his handsome face pulled into an expression of distress. "I know it was a bit sudden. I had hardly given you a sign before that, I realized. You have to know how foolish I felt afterwards."

"Foolish?" Belle asked, unsure how to take that last remark. Did he feel foolish for asking to court her because of the way he had asked, or because he regretted asking her.

"For acting so quickly. I didn't mean to surprise you or offend you, I just wanted to be able to get to know you better," he said and Belle found herself speechless. She was overwhelmed by what seemed to be sincere honesty and the realization that Gustave did not want to court her simply because she was beautiful as Clarice had pointed out.

"I'm sorry I said no before," Belle admitted quietly, holding her books closer and looking down at her shoes. She hadn't meant to cause him the distress he was so obviously suffering from, but she still didn't have the courage to be the subject of such admiration.

"Does that mean you're changing your mind?" he asked and Belle could not help but hear the hopeful note in his voice.

"I—I suppose," she said hesitantly as her heart pounded so hard she feared Gustave could hear it. "I should go. Goodbye!" she said and retreated quickly out the door. Her head was spinning with what just happened. Did she really give Gustave permission to court her?

"Belle!" he called as she fled down the street. She stopped and turned so quickly she nearly lost her balance. Gustave was standing on the stairs that led to his front door, leaning over the rail to call after her. "I'll see you soon!" he promised and waved at her with a large grin. Belle couldn't help but wave in return, keeping her wildly beating heart from bursting from her chest by holding her books in front of it. It seemed impossible that after a full week of worrying over what she would say if she encountered Gustave again, after she turned him down and fearfully sought advice from Clarice and Papa, that she had ended up agreeing to have Gustave court her after all. Was it right that she change her mind like that? What would Papa say?

Instantly she felt the bubble of excitement that had been welling in her chest deflate. What_ would_ her Papa say? He wanted her to wait for someone she truly loved, but Belle wasn't sure she loved Gustave. _'_The rest will fall into place_'_ he had said when she came home nearly in tears the first time Gustave had asked to court her. That recollection made her feel better; perhaps things would fall into place with her and Gustave. If she wanted it to, that is. She was still very overwhelmed with what had just happened; it felt as though her head was spinning.

"I'm home, Papa," she called as she walked into the small apartment and deposited her books on the small table by the door. Over the years she and her father had created a cozy home for themselves. Papa would spend his days working as a carpenter though Belle knew very well how much he hated it. So she would take the coin left after paying rent for their humble apartment and, on days when she did not tutor, would shop for food in the market place. Belle would use that food to make dinner for her and Papa each night and would do her best to cheer her father up. It hurt her to see the light in her father's eyes grown dimmer by the day as his job took the joy from his heart. Today appeared to be no different; Papa was sitting in his usual chair with his head in his hands.

"Papa?" she called again when he did not answer her. This time he sat up to look at her and, though he tried to smile, Belle could tell something was wrong. "What is it, Papa?" she asked, moving to kneel by his chair and take his hand.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news, my Belle," he said, patting her hand. "We're going to have to move again."

"To another apartment? But why?"

"I haven't been getting my wages as I should be. I've been behind on the rent here for some time and, well. . . we're going to have to leave the city."

"Leave the _city_?" she repeated in horror. "But. . . I don't understand, Papa. Why haven't you been getting paid?"

"I was hoping to keep this from you until I could settle matters, but it seems I have no choice now. The man I worked for was dishonest; he took an unfair portion of all his workers' wages. It's been happening for years, but lately it's been the worst it's ever been. The others and I tried to confront him today, but he simply dismissed us and hired new men to work for him. I'm sorry."

"But I have some money," she offered quickly. That money was being saved for her adventures and travels, but if it would keep them in the city she would gladly give it up. "Take it, Papa, so we can stay here."

"Thank you, my sweet girl. But I'm afraid it won't be enough to make up for the debt I owe."

"Why not?" she asked, becoming more anxious now. "Maman was able to pay for that nice apartment as a tutor when I was little, why can't I make enough doing the same thing?"

"Hush, my Belle. You're only a child. Your Maman was older and was paid for her experience, and she worked with more children than you. This is not your fault, Belle," he continued, his voice shifting from a comforting tone to become more stern. "Don't you blame yourself for this, all right?"

"Yes, Papa," she replied, but sat back on her heels to absorb the implications of this news. "Why do we have to leave the city, though?" she asked quietly.

"There's no place here I can afford any longer. One of the men I worked with mentioned there might be work in the country, good work where a man could make a living for himself. Perhaps I could even start on my inventions again." Belle raised her head as she heard the careful hopefulness in her father's voice. She knew he missed building his inventions; she imagined it would be a bit like having to give up her reading and shivered at the very thought. This move would make her father happy, she realized, but what about her life here? What about Clarice? And what about Gustave?

"Might?" she picked out from her father's statement. "We're to leave the city with nothing but a possibility?"

"Think of it as an adventure," Papa replied. "We'll go on a. . .on a quest to find a new home. Isn't that what you wanted? To go on adventures?" Belle knew her father was trying to sway her into agreeing to move, but she couldn't, not when her life was just taking an exciting new turn.

"No," she said defiantly, standing up quickly. "I don't want to leave! Why can't you just find another job here?" Without giving him time to respond, Belle ran to her room before the tears could spill from her eyes. Once her door was safely closed, Belle collapsed onto her bed and began sobbing.

Why did this have to happen today of all days? Clarice had just had her wedding less than a week ago. Gustave was going to court her. What if he was the one she was meant to be with? She would be torn away from her chance at a love like her parents had. It wasn't fair. And what kind of adventures could she hope to have out in the country? If she was going to have an adventure, as Papa said, the odds were better that she'd find her way in the city where there was more access to people and ships that would carry her across the seas. What hope of adventures did she have amongst chickens and cows? She knew it wasn't Papa's fault that this was happening, but all she could do was sob bitterly into her pillow and hope that this was all a bad dream.

* * *

When she grew calm at last, she lay on her bed and felt shame overcome her. She shouldn't have acted like that to her father. He tried his best to provide a good life for them, and she realized that this was his only option now. A soft knock at the door prompted her to sit up quickly and dry her eyes.

"Come in," she said and watched as Papa opened her door a few inches to peer inside before stepping in fully. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said as soon as he entered.

"Oh, my Belle," he sighed and came to sit on the bed beside her. "I know this is hard for you. I've already had to uproot you once. I had hoped I wouldn't have to do it again. I know you don't want to leave Clarice."

"It's not just that," she admitted and took a steadying breath. "I gave Gustave permission to court me today." She said it all at once and very quickly in hopes that it would make the news less uncomfortable for the both of them.

"Ah, I see," Papa said and was silent. "Do you love him?" he asked after several moments.

"I—I don't know," she admitted. "I had hoped to have time to find out. Perhaps—perhaps it's not meant to be. I mean, since this is happening so soon after he. . .after I agreed to it." She was trying so hard to be understanding, but she kept seeing Gustave's green eyes in her mind.

"I know you're trying to be brave, Belle. You have no idea how much I appreciate you trying. But unless he wants to marry you and keep you here, I have to take you away." Belle was shocked at her father's suggestion that she marry Gustave. They barely even knew each other, but her father was willing to let her decide between him and this man he had never even met.

She tried to imagine what a life with Gustave would be like: waiting for his long hours as a lawyer to be done so that she might spend time with him, playing with the children she bore for him, sitting by a fire in their old age. It was a pleasant picture, but as she tried to place Gustave beside her in these fantasies she found his image eluded her. She did not want such things yet, and she wasn't sure that she wanted them with Gustave.

"No, Papa. I won't marry Gustave, not even if he asks me. I want to stay with you," she said. "We've got to stick together. No matter what." She couldn't be sure, but she though she saw tears in her father's eyes as he pulled her into a fierce embrace.

"You are so much like your mother. I promise we'll find those adventures of yours, and perhaps you'll even find someone out in the country."

"We'll see," she said with a slightly forced giggle. "When do we have to leave?"

"By the end of the week, I'm afraid." Belle stifled a gasp of surprise. That was only three days from now! "And. . ." he father started but paused, and Belle was sure there was more bad news coming.

"And?" she pressed.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you if I could borrow your savings from you. We're going to have to buy a wagon and a horse to leave the city. Getting settled in a house will take a lot, too. Belle, you know I wouldn't ask you if I didn't have to." Belle watched as her father's face turned red and she realized how much of his pride it had cost him to ask his daughter for money.

"Of course, Papa," she said. What was the money to her now that she would be so far from finding the adventures she had been saving for? She fetched her funds from its hiding place between the pages of her mother's fairy tale book and gave it willingly to her father. He took it more hesitantly, but after a few reassuring words on her part he was able to swallow his pride and take the money.

"Now, how about dinner?" she said as merrily as she could muster.

* * *

Belle woke after a night of fitful sleep. She used up an entire candle trying to disappear into one of her books in an effort to keep her mind off of moving away from everything she knew. Despite that, she managed only a few stolen minutes of dozing before dawn arrived and she could no longer pretend to sleep. She shuffled out of her room in search of the solace of warm tea only to find her father already sitting at the small kitchen table.

"Papa? Are you all right, Papa?" she asked, startled to find him there so early. He looked up at her voice and attempted a smile, but Belle could see by his bloodshot eyes that he had not slept at all.

"I'm fine, Belle," he tried to assure her but he wasn't fooling her.

"Papa, I now you're not. It was wrong that your wages were stolen by that man, but I'm sure the country will be just fine."

"You're so sweet, my dear," he said, taking her hand and drawing her down to the nearest chair. "Your mother would be so proud of you."

"Papa, what's wrong?" she begged.

"I'm just a bit sad about leaving, that's all" he confessed. "You were born in this city, your mother is buried here. The most important days of my life have been spent here." And it was in that moment that Belle truly realized how much he had truly loved her mother. It was a staggering thing to picture someone loving another so much that they considered the best days of their life to be when they were together. The idea of it somehow faded further the picture of she and Gustave together.

"I was hoping I could go see Clarice today," she said as she began making breakfast for them both.

"Has she gotten married yet?"

"Yes, remember I went last week?" Belle reminded him. Clarice had wanted both Belle and her father to come to the small affair about a week ago, but Papa had been working so Belle went alone. She knew hardly anyone there and desperately wished it was the sort of thing she could have brought a book to entertain herself with, but it was pleasant enough to watch the bride and groom celebrate their marriage. It was a simple affair, held in the local church with Clarice in a new white dress her mother had bought her. Both the bride and groom seemed overjoyed to be wed and Belle was happy for them. It was still odd to know that Clarice was married now and probably thinking of starting a family while Belle dreamed of traveling. A bitter though sneaked into Belle's mind reminding her that she _was_ about to travel, but in the wrong direction.

"Are you sure you won't be imposing after they've wed so soon?"

"I don't think Clarice would forgive me if I left without saying goodbye," Belle said with a strained smile. "I'll come back to help pack up," she promised.

"Take your time. I'm going to try to find a horse and wagon to buy today, so I doubt we'll start on the apartment till tomorrow," Papa said.

"All right, Papa," she said, excited at the prospect of getting to spend the day with Clarice. If she was available, that is. She also had to tell the families she tutored for that she was leaving. Belle's heart sunk as she remembered that she also had to tell Gustave.

She sat down to a quick breakfast with her father before they both left the apartment, separating at the door as they traveled in opposite directions.

* * *

"You're _what_?" Clarice demanded after Belle had reached her new home and explained what had happened. "You can't move to the country! I'll never see you again!"

"We don't know that," Belle said, though she knew Clarice was probably right. She and Papa would be too far for visits to the city, and once Clarice inevitably started having children she wouldn't be able to travel to the middle of nowhere to see Belle. "Besides, I hardly see you now anyway."

"Don't you dare make me feel guilty, Belle," Clarice warned playfully. "Or I'll come out to your new house and make your life miserable."

"If you can find it," Belle replied with her own attempt at humor. "With my luck, Papa and I will end up in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh, Belle," Clarice sighed and sat on the sofa, pulling Belle down beside her. "You know I don't want you to leave. You're my best friend. But all you've talked about for as long as I've known you was going on some grand adventures like the ones we used to read about. Why can't this be the adventure you've been waiting for?"

"Because cows don't know how to sail ships," Belle retorted, making Clarice giggle. "You know nothing ever happens out there. People _leave_ the country to get somewhere else more interesting."

"Just give it a chance. You never know what could happen!" Belle sighed and looked at Clarice who was trying so hard to make Belle feel better. Deciding to let her have this one, since they were unlikely to ever see each other again.

"There's something else, too," Belle confessed. Clarice raised one questioning eyebrow and Belle told her all about Gustave and the predicament she now found herself in.

"You have a beau and you didn't tell me?" Clarice shrieked when Belle was through.

"It only just happened," Belle reminded her. "What do I tell him now that I'm leaving?"

"Are you sure marriage is out of the question?" Clarice asked and Belle nodded before she had even finished her sentence.

"Definitely."

"Then I would just tell him the truth. You didn't know about this when you agreed to let him court you. If he's as nice as you say, he'll understand. Even if he doesn't, you'll never have to see him again." Belle nodded thoughtfully; Clarice's advice wasn't exactly the direct answer she was hoping for, but she had a point.

"Let's go to the bookstore," Belle suggested, changing the subject. "One more time before I have to leave."

"I thought you weren't leaving for a couple of days still," Clarice protested.

"Yes, but we still have to pack up the apartment and tell the families I tutor that I'm leaving. Today is probably the last day I have to myself."

"Let's go," Clarice said without another moment's hesitation and Belle couldn't help but smile.

They chatted easily on their way to the bookstore, as if not a day had passed since Clarice had been courted by her new husband and the two girls were children again. Together they searched the crooked shelves of Miss Sybil's bookstore for a treasure to read together, Persephone the cat winding affectionately around their ankles as they wandered the nearly empty store.

"Oh, look!" Clarice exclaimed and raised a volume for Belle to see. "_King Arthur_! I haven't read this one in ages!"

"Me either. I love that one," Belle said, taking the book to thumb through the pages.

"Let's get it," Clarice said and went straight to Miss Sybil to ask permission to borrow it. "Come on, Belle! We've got a lot to get through in one day!" Clarice urged once she gained Miss Sybil's consent.

"I'll be right there, I just want to say goodbye to Persephone," Belle said and waited till Clarice left the shop.

"My bookworm is leaving me, eh?" Miss Sybil asked and Belle was touched by the clear despair the shopkeeper was in.

"Yes," Belle replied but avoided going into what she felt were the private details of the situation. "I'm going to miss you."

"And my books," Miss Sybil added with a knowing smile. "I hope there's a bookstore out where you're going."

"Me too," Belle replied and felt her heart skip a beat. It had not even occurred to her that she might not have access to books in her new home. "How much would you ask for the book we're borrowing?"

Miss Sybil eyed her for a moment or two before answering: "Ten sous."

"Ten sous?" Belle repeated in disbelief. "That doesn't seem like very much."

"It's an old book. The binding is nearly broken and the pages are bent. Ten sous," the old bookkeeper replied matter-of-factly. Belle took the money from her purse concealed in the folds of her dress to pay for the book.

"Thank you, Miss Sybil," Belle said, wanting to sincerely thank the woman who had fueled Belle's love of books for so many years. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

"Goodbye, sweet girl. Take care of yourself," Miss Sybil replied and patted Belle's hand as she took the money for the book.

"Are you all set now?" Clarice asked impatiently as Belle met her on the street, closing the shop door behind her.

"I am. Let's go," she replied and took Clarice's arm to walk towards the park for the last time.

They sat under the shade of their favorite tree for hours, taking turns reading chapters to each other as the sun made its way overhead. It was bliss for Belle to be able to spend time with Clarice again, reading their mutually favorite book as if nothing had changed between them in the past year. They were children again, having no cares or responsibilities but to finish the book before they had to be home for supper.

Of course, the day had to end and the moment finally came where they had to say goodbye.

"Well," Belle started as they stood at the door to Clarice's home.

"I'll return the book to Miss Sybil," Clarice promised. "You don't want to say goodbye twice. Besides you have other things to do."

"Oh, the book is yours," Belle said. "I bought it while you were outside."

"Don't you want it?" Clarice asked, handing the book to her.

"No, I want you to have it. It's our favorite story; I would like to think you'll keep it and remember me sometimes," Belle confessed, trying her best to keep her tears at bay.

"Oh, Belle. How could I forget you?" Clarice asked and pulled her into a tight hug. Belle returned the embrace with equal ferocity, clinging to her dearest friend as if she could keep herself in the city that served as her home simply by holding on to her.

"What will I do without you?" Belle asked, still holding Clarice in the embrace.

"I know you'll do something great," Clarice tried to assure her. "You'll turn the world upside down out there."

"Wouldn't that be something?" Belle laughed and finally released her. "Take care of yourself, all right?"

"You, too," Clarice replied. "I'll miss you."

"Me, too," Belle said and was disappointed to hear her voice break as the tears she tried to hold back threatened to spill over at last. "Goodbye."

With that, she turned away from her friend and hurried back down the street. The tears came as soon as she did so and she let them fall. Her dearest friend in the entire world, and they had just said goodbye forever.

The door to her now temporary apartment was in front of her before she was ready for it. Belle spent a moment or two wiping the tears from her cheeks and tried to steady her breathing. It wouldn't do for Papa to see that she had been crying, not with everything he was going through. When she was finally ready to enter the apartment, she was met with a scene of chaos and hilarity. Papa was sitting amidst piles of their belongings mixed with various bits of wood, tools, springs, and gears. He was wearing his favorite pair of magnified goggles with supposedly indispensable tools attached to them and working diligently on fixing a hinge to two pieces of wooden planks. Belle wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish, but it was clear that his brain was whirring in ways she had not seen since they moved into this tiny apartment.

"Ah, Belle! There you are!" he exclaimed when he noticed she had come back. "I need your help here."

"What's all this?" she asked with a giggle.

"I'm trying to make our move a bit easier. This will be the part of the wagon," he motioned to the hinged wood in his hands. "I'm making it so we can open and close the back and sides fold so we can load and unload our things more easily."

"That's a wonderful idea," Belle agreed. "Have you eaten yet, though?"

"Hmm?" Papa asked, his focused once again fixed to his work. Belle smiled widely and watched him work for a moment before going to make them both some dinner. It was for the best that Belle was going with her father to the country. She knew he tried to give her the option to stay behind and had she truly wanted to, she could really see some sort of future with Gustave. Perhaps not the one she dreamed of, but a nice one nonetheless. But her Papa needed her; she was all the family he had now, and he was all she had. It was right that she stay with him, even if that meant giving up her dreams for now. _Who knows_, she thought. _Something exciting _could_ happen out in the country._ She would just have to wait and see where fate took her.


	11. Chapter 11

Belle's POV

The day after Belle said goodbye to Clarice was filled mostly with preparing for the move to the country. Papa had secured them a wagon and a young, strong horse to carry their belongings, but would not be able to bring them to fill until the following day, the day they had to leave the city. So she and Papa spent the majority of the day packing their things into boxes, trunks, and bags to load the wagon with when it arrived the next day. Belle didn't have much of a wardrobe to pack, having only two dresses to her name and those nearly embarrassingly outgrown. She would have to get new ones soon, but with what money she didn't know.

She was quite excited to learn that she would be able to bring all of her books with her this time. It was years ago, but she still remembered the sting of having to get rid of so many of her books the first time they had to move. But there was plenty of room in the wagon for them this time according to Papa, so she was permitted to bring them. In fact, ever since she was told she had to leave the city, it was her first bit of good news.

Once she had finished packing her room into boxes, she went to help Papa pack the rest of the house. He wanted to bring the run down furniture along with them, which would have taken quite a bit more room than they could spare in the wagon. It took some doing, but Belle managed to convince him to leave them behind. Most of the furniture had been there when they moved into the small apartment; it had been old then and had not aged well in the seven years they had lived there. To bring them along, even to save a bit of money, would not be worth the space they would take in the wagon. The couch had been sunken for years and Belle wasn't sure the armchair would survive the trip.

Together, she and Papa finished packing fairly quickly. The main room of their apartment was filled with stacked boxes and trunks, one or two filled with her mother's belongings which included her wedding dress, hair brush, and portrait of her and Belle that had been painted when Belle was about four years old. It was odd for Belle to see her entire world divided and hidden into a series of boxes, as if her memories could be packed and stored in such a simple way. As if everything she and Papa had gone through could be kept so neatly and finally.

"Looks like we're ready to go," Papa said as he stacked the last of the boxes. "I'll bring the horse and wagon here tomorrow and we'll load it all up."

"Will we be keeping the horse, Papa?" she asked.

"Mhm. He'll be all ours. He's a good, strong thing. There'll be plenty for him to do out in the country, I bet."

"What's his name?"

"I didn't think to ask. If he doesn't have one, I'm sure you can think of something for him."

"I'd like that," Belle replied, somewhat excited at the idea of having a horse of their own to name and to take care of.

"Now, are there any odds and ends we have to take care of that I'm forgetting?" Papa asked and Belle immediately looked at her shoes.

"I have to go tell the families I tutor that I'm leaving. And I have to tell Gustave," she muttered to her toes.

"Be brave, my dear," Papa said, taking hold of her shoulder gently. "I'm sorry to have to put you through this."

"It's not your fault, Papa," she insisted. "It'll be fine, it's just something I'd rather not do."

"I understand. Best get it over with, though," he replied sympathetically.

"I'll be back before supper," she promised and slowly left the apartment to perform her few last obligations. She was not looking forward to explaining to the children that she could not teach them any more, and she especially did not want to tell Gustave she was leaving.

She decided to visit the houses of the boys she taught first, putting off Collette and Gustave's home till the last. Luke and Steven, the twin boys who were her youngest students, did not seem to quite understand what Belle meant. Their parents, however, were very sorry to see her go.

"They were improving so much with you helping them," the boys' mother insisted. "It won't be the same without you." Belle was flattered by this; to her it seemed as though she had hardly done anything for these two rather rambunctious boys, but evidently their parents noticed a difference and that was what mattered.

Jean's parents weren't nearly as emotional about the loss of their son's tutor. They had never been as involved in their son's life though, so this came as no surprise to Belle. She made sure to say a special farewell to Jean before she left. It hurt her heart to see a boy so ignored by his parents and she had done her best to help him realize that he was worth so much more than a passing glance.

Then it was time to make her visit to Collette's house and make her most hurtful goodbye of all. Though it was coming on near dinner time, she walked more slowly to this last house, not knowing what she might say but dreading it all the same. The kind butler, Charles, opened the door for her as he usually did though he seemed quite surprised to see her so late in the day.

"Why, Mademoiselle Belle! I didn't expect to see you today," he said as he let her in.

"It's a bit unexpected for me, as well," she admitted. "Are Collette's parents at home today?"

"Yes, they are. What's—I'll announce you at once," he said and led her to the doors of the drawing room. Belle had the suspicion he wanted to know the reason for her visit and she smiled at his concern.

"Belle!" Collette bounced into her arms when Charles admitted her into the drawing room.

"What a lovely surprise," Collette's mother said as she stood to greet her. "You should join us for dinner."

"I'm afraid I can't stay, my lady," Belle said, forcing her eyes on her and not the young man sitting in the arm chair just behind. "I just came to tell you. . ." Belle trailed off as her voice failed her. "To tell you that Papa and I are moving to the country tomorrow. I'm sorry it's such short notice, but we didn't know until the day before yesterday." She finished quickly and dropped her eyes to her shoes. She heard but didn't see someone stand so quickly the chair scraped loudly across the floor, but no one came any nearer.

"Oh," Collette's mother said softly. "Well, we'll be very sorry to see you go, of course. And I won't embarrass you by asking the reason for it, but can't anything be done?"

"No, my lady," Belle all but whispered. The next moment she found herself in the arms of the kind woman, her cheek pressed against the soft fabric of her expensive gown.

"We will miss you, Belle," she said as she hugged the girl. Belle felt Collette hug her waist and dislodged an arm to wrap around Collette's shoulders. Tears began to prick at the corner's of Belle's eyes and she closed them tightly to keep them at bay. By the time Collette and her mother released her, Belle had regained her composure long enough to say her goodbyes to the family and retreat to the foyer. She bid Charles a fond goodbye, but didn't offer an further explanation since he had been in the drawing room when she spoke to the family. Belle closed the door of the house behind her and started quickly down the steps, thinking it was better this way to avoid an emotional goodbye and more heartache she wasn't sure she could bear. But she didn't get far before she was stopped by a hand gently grabbing hold of her own. She turned to face the person who stopped her, but she knew who it was before she turned.

"Why the country?" he asked, his green eyes pleading with her. "Are you so determined to get away from me?"

"No! No, I'm not. We don't have the money to stay here any more," Belle said earnestly. "I didn't want to. . . You can't think I did this to stay away from you."

"Well, you did say no to me the first time I asked to court you," he replied, but Belle could see he didn't mean it. "Must you go? I was looking forward to the chance to get to know you better."

"I have to. I can't leave my father."

"Not even to marry me?" he offered. Belle gasped at the abruptness of this question, of the informal, casual nature of it.

"Would you really want to marry me when you hardly even know me?" Belle asked quietly.

"I don't doubt that you're as sweet and kind as you seem. I would be glad to become your husband," he said and Belle could see that he was sincere.

She considered him for a moment, of what sort of life they might have together. She had done so once before when Papa had suggested the possibility of it, but she found that she could not reconsider her original decision. A life with Gustave would be comfortable and most likely quite nice, but to settle down now would end all of her dreams for good, even more so than moving to the country would. A wife was not supposed to travel about; she was meant to see to her husband's comfort and take care of his children. Or at least that's what society dictated. And if that was what her life was to be, then she certainly wasn't ready for such a commitment. Not to mention she barely knew anything about Gustave. She could _never_ choose to spend her whole life with someone she hardly knew.

"No, I can't marry you," she replied quietly. Though she truly did not want to marry him, it broke her heart to deny him. Gustave was good and kind; he would have given her a good life, but she knew she was following her heart.

"I—," he started and paused. "I wish you'd change your mind, but even I know you wouldn't do that," he continued after a moment and Belle could hear the disappointment in his voice. "I hope you find a good life out there, Belle. I truly do." He reached out a hand which Belle willingly took. She was flattered and a bit overwhelmed when he bent to kiss her hand lightly.

"Thank you," she said and met his eyes one last time.

"Goodbye," he replied and released her hand. Belle turned and fled back to the apartment, the tears she had tried so hard to subdue finally spilling down her cheeks. She knew she had made the right decision, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt her to do it.

"I'm back, Papa," she called several minutes later into the apartment filled with towers of trunks and boxes. She watched as the crown of his balding head appeared behind one of the towers and was welcomed by his smiling face as he emerged from behind it. The sight provoked Belle into a smile of her own; it was so good to see Papa happy again after so many years of hardship.

"How'd it go?" he asked. Instead of replying, Belle bent to embrace her father, holding him tightly to her.  
"I love you, Papa," she said.

"I love you, too," he replied, but he sounded confused at her obvious lack of response. "He asked you to marry him, didn't he?" Belle broke away to nod. "It doesn't look like you said yes," he said gently.

"I turned him down," she confirmed.

"I hope it wasn't because of me."

"Oh, Papa. I have my own mind, you know," she said with some bit of humor. "But I'd rather be with you than with someone I barely know."

"You'll never know how much I appreciate that, my Belle. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're all I've got, you know," he said and Belle was embarrassed to see tears in her father's eyes.

"You're all I've got, too," she reminded him with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Now, let's see about dinner, and then you can show me where we'll be heading tomorrow." Papa smiled at her and went to get the maps ready while she went to cook dinner. Out of the corner of her eye she watched her father study the maps, turning them this way and that until he found an angle to suit him. Perhaps moving to the country wouldn't be so bad after all. It was true that the city was where her Maman had been, but they still had the portrait and some small articles of hers Belle and her father could not part with to help them remember her. And Belle would miss Clarice terribly of course, not to mention she felt horrible about hurting Gustave, but this would be new territory to explore with new people to meet. Perhaps they would move close to the coast where she might find a grand ship to sail off on when she was older. But wherever she and Papa would end up, they would be together. As long as they had each other, that's all that counted, no matter what.


	12. Chapter 12

Belle's POV

"Is that everything?" Papa asked as he heaved a trunk into the little remaining space in the wagon.

"I think so," Belle replied, leaning on the side of the wagon and trying not to look too exhausted. They had spent all morning loading their trunks and bags into the back of the wagon Papa bought with what money they had; Belle had done her best to help as much as she could, but she wasn't used to heaving such loads.

"Good. You want a last look around before we go?"

"Not really," Belle said honestly. The apartment they were leaving behind did not hold many fond memories for her and now that they were finally leaving, Belle found herself anxious to be off.

"All right then. I'd rather get going myself, truth be told" he said and closed up back of the wagon he had fixed so that it swung down on a hinge. Belle took a moment to pat the nose of the young horse Papa had bought along with the wagon. He seemed like a good strong horse, good enough to pull them and their belongings across the countryside. And what's more, he seemed very friendly which made Belle somehow more optimistic about the journey ahead of them.

"Are you ready, Philippe?" she asked the beautiful chestnut horse. He nudged her shoulder gently and Belle grinned. She gave the horse one last pat before climbing up to sit beside her father on top of the wagon. "Let's go, Papa," she said with a smile. He clicked the reins, sending Philippe into a merry trot as they made their way out of the city. They were heading more or less south, but aside from that Belle wasn't sure what Papa's intentions were. Even though Papa had tried to show her his plans for the journey on several maps, Belle couldn't make much sense of them. But then, Papa was never very good at explaining himself when he was excited.

For awhile Belle was content to sit quietly and watch the city pass by her. She had never left the city before and it was interesting to see how it faded from the busy streets of the city's center to the less populous outskirts. Before long, Paris was behind them and their journey was truly underway.

"So where _are_ we going, Papa?" she asked once they passed the last of the city's outlying homes.

"I heard there's a job out in a village a couple of days from here. I was going to see what that would offer, and where that might lead," he replied. "We'll find somewhere to settle down in a few weeks at the most."

"Will we?" she asked hesitantly, suddenly worried they might be wandering about the country forever.

"Your birthday is in one month. I promise you we'll be settled by then," he said, making a point to look her in the eye when he spoke. Belle nodded, believing her father's word. He never lied to her before; sometimes he kept things from her until he was able to tell her, but he never lied. Still, two months was a long time to be sitting atop a wagon.

* * *

They traveled the rest of the day until the road they followed led into a small town. At least, it was small compared to the city of Paris. But it had an inn that wasn't too expensive and the inn had a bath, which was a great relief for Belle after a rather heartbreaking day spent on the dusty road. She and Papa rented a room from the kindly innkeeper and washed off the dirt of their travels. Belle was weary after the day of travel and climbed into the small bed quite early, but her father sat up at the tiny desk sketching on scraps of paper he had gotten from the innkeeper. She thought about telling him to get some sleep if they were to continue traveling the next day, but he was clearly enjoying having the freedom to return to his inventions. So Belle merely turned away from the candlelight and allowed the second tiny bed in the room to remain empty.

Belle woke without having the memory of falling asleep. Clearly traveling had tired her out more than she thought, but she was glad her first night in a strange bed was less jarring than she feared. Papa's bed was untouched; he had fallen asleep at the desk, the candle by his elbow melted down to a stub. Belle let him be, taking the time to herself to get ready for the day before going downstairs to see what she might get for their breakfast.

"What'll it be, mam'selle?" the innkeeper's tired-looking wife asked when Belle approached her.

"What can I get for this?" she asked, feeling a bit foolish and very embarrassed as she held out a small handful of coins she and Papa had purposefully set aside as part of their food savings. The woman looked at her with obvious pity and went into the kitchens. She came back a few minutes later with a couple of sausages and warm bread with honey on a tray for her. Belle took the tray but couldn't help the look of confusion she gave the innkeeper's wife.

"Young girl's must keep up their strength when they travel," was all she said before bustling off to tend to her other customers, leaving Belle standing with a tray worth much more than what she paid. She was tempted to go after the woman and insist she take the tray back, but the woman seemed to have disappeared and the smell of the sausages made her mouth water. So she decided to take the woman's kindness just this once and brought the tray up to the room.

She pushed the door to the room open while balancing the tray in one hand. As she stepped through the doorway, Papa crashed into her nearly knocking the food to the floor.

"Belle, there you are!" he exclaimed as Belle rebalanced the tray. "We'll need to get moving soon if we're to reach the next village by nightfall."

"Breakfast first," she insisted and put the tray on the nearest bed. Her father took one of the plates and ate as he continued to pack his sketches and clothes. He never made a comment of how the meal was disproportionate to the money they had left, which Belle was grateful for. Belle sat and ate more calmly, watching her father gather himself together in his own chaotic manner.

"Ready to go?" he asked as he swallowed the last piece of bread. "We've got a couple full days of travel before I get to that job."

"Ready," she said, though she was not looking forward to another day of sitting in the wagon. They packed the little they brought into the inn with them, went downstairs to pay the kindly innkeeper, and claimed their wagon and horse from the barn behind the inn.

"Hello, Philippe," Belle greeted their horse as they entered the barn. He was still shy around his new owners, but conceded to eat the handful of oats Belle offered him.

It took a few minutes for Papa to get the horse hitched up to the wagon the innkeeper had allowed them to store in the barn for the night. Once Philippe was hitched up and Papa made sure their things were still secure though, it was time to once again climb atop the wagon and suffer the hard wood and old springs the seat was made up of. Belle wondered briefly if it might be more comfortable in the back amongst their belongings, but one look at the trunks and boxes quickly determined that a bad idea. So Belle merely sat as comfortably as she could as the wagon rolled out of its shelter and onto the open road once more. If she had to endure another two full months of the terribly uncomfortable wagon ride, she might go insane. She could only hope that Papa would find a permanent position more quickly than that. As it was, only a day and a half of this felt like an eternity.

For awhile she and her father chatted lightly, commenting on the scenery around them that was so vastly different than what they were used to in the city. It was very beautiful, Belle could not deny that. In fact she rather enjoyed it, but in the quiet moments of the ride she couldn't keep her mind from wandering back to Paris and the friend she left behind. No amount of beauty could make up for the fact that she was now friendless. She missed Gustave too, but she didn't know him as well for as long and it was hard to mourn for something she never truly had.

"You've been very quiet today," her father remarked as they resumed their journey after a short midday break to eat. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine, Papa," she insisted. "Just a little tired."

"Already? We've got a long way to go still."

"I know. I just need to get used to this, that's all."

"Well, I'll do my best to get us settled as soon as possible."

"I know, Papa," she said with the best, most hopeful smile she could muster.

* * *

Beast's POV

The Beast sat in his armchair by the fire, watching the flames as he did nearly every day now, even as the days got warmer. Besides this room and the West Wing, he cared to go few other places. His servants had strict orders not to disturb him unless it was for his meals or some extraordinarily disastrous event, which left him in solitude most of the time.

He preferred it that way; to look upon his servants meant a reminder of a curse he was not able to lift. Seeing them in their state reminded him of his own monstrous form. But when he sat very still in his armchair, disturbed by no one and paying attention to nothing but the flames in front of him, he was able to forget for a few moments what he was. It wasn't that he imagined himself human again; he felt too far gone from humanity to remember what it was like to be a man, but he could at least ignore his own existence for awhile.

Occasionally he would escape to the rooftops, and even more rarely would roam amongst the trees of the forest. He did this every so often not because he wished to resume his hunting, but to ward off any travelers that might be wandering the forest. If he kept them too frightened to travel the woods, he might be able to keep his sanctuary intact.

Of course, that meant that no one would come to break the curse, but there was really no hope of that anyway. Besides, any travelers he encountered were men. He hadn't seen a woman since the witless young girl traveling with her brothers. And unless the Enchantress had other incredibly mistaken plans for him, the men were of no use to him. It had occurred to him during his days spent silently brooding that it need not be a romantic sort of love that would break the curse; a simple friendship might do the trick, but how was he to befriend men who drew weapons on him the moment he came into view?

No, it was completely hopeless. All he wanted to was to live out his days in peace with as few things as possible to remind him what he was.

* * *

Belle's POV

It had taken three more days of travel before they reached the town where the promised job was. The second night after their stay at the first inn they found themselves too far from any town to find lodging, so they spent the night camped out beside the empty field the road ran through, lying on nothing but the blankets they had brought from the city. Belle did not relish the idea of sleeping on the ground; it was bad enough that she could no longer sleep in her own bed, but to sleep on the ground without mattress or ceiling sounded frankly very awful. But there was nothing to be done about it, so Belle merely set up the blankets for her and her father.

Once she lay back in her blankets though, she had a completely unobstructed view of the sky above her. A sky full of stars. She had never in her life seen so many stars, like a sparkling blanket gently enveloping the world; her breath caught in her throat and she felt her eyes widen in amazement. In the city, the candles and lanterns from the massive number of people strangled the light of the stars. During the past two nights spent outside the city, Belle had quite a number of other things on her mind than to admire the skies. But now she was enraptured in its beauty. Even the ground beneath her was more comfortable than she imagined it could be. Tucked in her pocket of warmth under the blankets, she was lulled to sleep by the drone of early-summer insects and comforted by the gentle glow of the stars above her.

* * *

"Did you sleep all right?" Papa asked as they made ready to go the next morning.

"Better than I have since we left the city," she said honestly. "I had no idea there were so many stars."

"They are beautiful, aren't they?" Papa said with a chuckle. "You'll be seeing a lot more of them now that we're out here. We'll reach the next town by tonight, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you slept out in inn's yard." Belle laughed in reply to his teasing and climbed up on the wagon beside him.

It took the entire day to get to the next town. It still amazed Belle that there could be such large stretches of land between people. Many times she felt like a child the way she gazed at her new surroundings, taking them in with wonder and amazement. Before the previous night, she had been worried about what she was leaving behind in the city, hardly coming out of her own thoughts to think about what was ahead. But taking the time to really look at the stars seemed to clear her head, allowing her to see her surroundings for the first time since she left the city.

"It's beautiful out here, isn't it?" she said conversationally as they rode through fields and farmland on their way to the next town.

"Yes, it is," her father replied and she noticed how strangely he was looking at her.

"I've been acting oddly on this trip so far, haven't I?" she asked.

"Well, I wouldn't say odd. Just not yourself," he amended. "Are you all right now?"

"I think so. I was just so focused on what was going wrong before: leaving Clarice and our home, saving money to stay in those inns and to eat, what might be ahead of us. I couldn't appreciate what was around me."

"I knew this was going to be a big change for us but you seemed so distant the past few days I wasn't sure what to do."

"I'm sorry, Papa," she said earnestly. She didn't want her father to have to worry about her on top of everything else.

"As long as you're all right now, no harm done," he said with a grin. "We'll reach the next town by tonight and I'll get my first day's real work, so we won't have to worry about money for a little while, either," he added. "I've got a good feeling that these people will know somewhere for us to live."

"I think so, too," she agreed, for once optimistic about the trip ahead of them.


	13. Chapter 13

_I actually got another chapter up in a more timely manner! And yes, I'm a little pleased with myself for that! Thank you to all who have reviewed so far. I love reading them and I'm glad you seem to be enjoying the story! Happy reading!_

* * *

Belle's POV

Belle sat on her bed at yet another inn, engrossed completely in one of her books. Papa left early that morning to see about the job they had traveled so far for and Belle took it as a good sign that it was nearly sundown and he still hadn't returned. She was just starting to wonder if he would be back for supper or if she should venture off on her own when Papa burst through the door, grinning from ear to ear.

"How did it go?" Belle asked as she set aside her book, though she was already fairly sure of the answer.

"Wonderfully!" Papa exclaimed. "They've got me and four other men rebuilding the bakery that burnt down a few weeks ago, which is simple enough: walls, floors, counters, what have you. But the baker who was overseeing the rebuilding mentioned that he wanted scrollwork in the counters to give his new bakery some. And, well I've done my share of that so I mentioned that I might be able to help him out. I did some simple examples for him on scrap wood and he liked it so much he told me to get started and he increased my wages!"

"Oh, that's wonderful Papa!" Belle cheered and hugged her father.

"Of course, that means I'll have some long hours, and we'll have to stay here for at least a week. . ."

"That's perfectly fine with me," Belle said. "I'm so proud of you, Papa."

"I mean all in all I'd rather work on my inventions, but if I do a good job here we'll be able to buy a house somewhere."

"Somewhere that has a room you can use as a workshop so you can work on your inventions all you like," Belle added and watched her father's face light up at the idea.

"Let's go celebrate. Whatever you want for dinner. You name it and I'll buy it for you!" Belle couldn't help but grin at her father's excitement. It was so good to see him so happy again, and she was so grateful his talents were being recognized. And if the baker came through with his promise to increase Papa's pay, their lives in the country could really begin to come together.

Papa brought her downstairs to the first floor of the inn and ordered a near feast for them both from the wages he was paid for his first day of work. Belle though they should be saving that money, but Papa was so happy she just couldn't keep him from this. So he treated them both to a full meal of meat, vegetables, and potatoes. It was more food than either of them had in a long time. Not to say they had been starving, but for Belle to be able to eat until she was completely full was more than welcome for her.

"What sort of design does the baker want on his countertops?" Belle asked as they ate.

"Not sure," he replied. "I was thinking something along the lines of this." Papa pulled a scrap piece of paper and a bit of charcoal from his pocket and continued to sketch some beautiful looping designs. "It'll go well along the edges of the countertop, I think."

"That's lovely, Papa," she praised, amazed that anyone could take such designs and translate them into solid wood, and she was so proud that it was her Papa was able to show his talent for the town. Now if only he had the opportunity to show off his inventions.

* * *

Papa's mood never dwindled the rest of the week spent in town. Though he worked days just as long as those in the city, instead of coming home and collapsing into a chair looking small and defeated, he would bounce through the door and describe everything that he did during the day to Belle. Of course Belle was happy to listen to the success of her father's day, but she barely understood half of what he said to her. Most of it consisted of terms and phrases known apparently to carpenters, but she hadn't the faintest idea what they meant. So the next day, while Papa went to work Belle set about in search of a bookshop.

Luck was with her: there was a tiny shop just off the main road that went through town run by a rather stiff-looking older man. Belle nodded to him at his counter as she entered and immediately went in search of a book that might help her understand what her father was doing. After a few minutes of searching, Belle found was looked to be quite promising and settled down in a corner of the store to study.

Within a few minutes she was more or less engrossed in the book, looking up terms her father had used and learning about ones he had not said yet. She was interrupted a little while later when her light was blocked by a shadow falling across her book. Belle looked up to see the man who had been sitting at the counter when she came into the bookstore. His face was drawn into an expression of disapproval, glaring over his spectacles at her.

"Hello," she greeted with a smile, trying not to be frightened of him just yet.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled at her, crossing his arms as he spoke.

"Learning about carpentry," she replied honestly, holding the book up so he might read the title. "My father is working over at the bakery and I wanted to know more about what he was doing."

"Your father, eh?"

"Yes, sir," she confirmed. "We're just here for the week. I'm so proud of him to have gotten this job, you see, and I want to understand what he's talking about when he comes back at night."

"Just for the week?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, fine. But don't be folding any pages or spilling anything over my books, you hear me?"

"Of course I won't," Belle said, shocked that anyone would think of doing such things to books. The man nodded and walked away, leaving her to the book. Belle watched him go for a moment before shaking her head in confusion and returning to her studies.

She stayed for another hour or so until she felt she could better understand what her father would say to her come that night. Belle replaced the book and intended to simply leave the bookshop, but she couldn't resist browsing the shelves. There were so many books she would've like to buy for herself to read and reread at her leisure, but of course that was impossible.

"Thank you for letting me read here," she said to the man at the counter.

"Not every day I get young ladies in here wanting to seriously study," he said with a nod. Belle smiled uncertainly at him and nodded in return, but left feeling very confused. He was so angry at her before, yet his last statement made it seemed as though he approved of her. She couldn't decide whether to confront him about that or not, so she merely left before she said something to turn his mood foul again.

But it was all worth it, for when Papa came back to the inn that night she was able to keep up with his excited chatter and even contributed a thing or two to the conversation.

* * *

"Ready to go?" Papa asked a little over week later. He had finished his work rebuilding the bakery, adding his creative touches the baker had requested. Papa had been handsomely paid for his trouble, providing them with enough money to ensure a comfortable journey and a lovely little house to live in. Not to mention the men her father worked with gave them a direction to travel in that might have a home for them to own.

"Ready," she replied merrily, eager to be moving onward and find a place to finally settle. This town had been very nice, even the crotchety bookkeeper had warmed up to her during her persistent visits. She wouldn't let some ill tempered man to keep her from her books, and apparently that made the bookkeeper like her enough to allow her to read in the corner of his bookshop. But it was time to move on, and so she said goodbye to the temperamental shop owner and packed up her belongings to find a place she and Papa might call home.

"It's a shame we couldn't stay in that town," Papa commented as he guided Philippe out onto the open road once more. "I thought it was a nice place."

"I did, too. But maybe the town your friends told you about will be just as nice."

"They seemed to think so. I just hope we can get there before someone buys the house before us."

"Do you really think we'll be able to settle down there?" Belle asked, trying very hard not to get her hopes up. "I didn't think we'd find somewhere so soon."

"Well it's another week before we reach that town, but I thought you'd be pleased."

"Oh, I am! I'm very excited, honestly. I just hope we can still get the house by the time we get there," Belle said, trying to put an optimistic note in her voice. She wanted to think that they would be able to settle down, much sooner than she had anticipated, but she didn't want to get her hopes up, just in case.

"I hope so, too," Papa confessed. "We'll know when we get there, I guess," he said. Belle nodded but said nothing further, trying to imagine what her new home might be like. After awhile though, she chose to ignore this particular worry and read one of her books she brought from the city to pass the time.

"You know," Papa said a little later on in the day, drawing Belle from her book. "I heard the village we're heading to also had a bookshop there."

"Really?" Belle hardly dared to hope.

"Mhm. I, uh. . . I made sure of it before we left. The last time any of those men were in town the bookstore was still open, and that was only a few months ago. Odds are, it's still there."

"That's wonderful! Thank you, Papa," she exclaimed, her hope that they might settle down there renewing. Being out in the country wouldn't be so bad as long as she had some sort of access to new books. And she was so pleased that Papa had thought to ask about that for her. Perhaps she could allow herself to get her hopes up a little for their new home.

* * *

Beast's POV

The Beast sat slumped in his chair as he had for weeks, staring into the flames and waiting for his last hope to fade. It would take three more years for the rose to wilt though, so he was forced to hold on.

"Master?"

"What?" he growled at the voice that disturbed his grim thoughts.

"We were wondering if perhaps. . .perhaps there are other ways to find someone to break the spell." He turned to face the speaker to find Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, and Lumiere standing before him. He sneered at the suggestion Mrs. Potts gave and watched as the other two quivered at the sight of his fangs. Just as the Beast could not get used to seeing his servants as moving objects, it seemed that they could not get accustomed to his appearance either. Except for Mrs. Potts; she always stood before him steadfast no matter what he looked like or what had done. Sometimes it was a comfort, other times an annoyance.

"Like what?" he all but growled.

"Perhaps it is time you used the mirror to find a girl to your liking," Lumiere suggested cautiously.

"I've tried that," he snapped. "The mirror only shows what's out there now, not in the future."

"B-but if you ask it to show you the surrounding villages and towns, m-maybe you can find someone," Cogsworth stammered under the withering stare the Beast was giving him.

"A village girl?" A Prince deserved a noblewoman, a duchess at least, not some village peasant.

"It _is_ unlikely any noble lady will be in reach," Mrs. Potts put in. "And I'm sure there are lovely girls in the surrounding villages."

"No," he grunted and swept out of the room, leaving his servants behind as he made his way to the West Wing. It was ridiculous to even suggest he should try and pick a village girl to lure into the castle. How would he even go about getting her here? Kidnap her? The situation was becoming desperate enough that he was actually considering it, despite the resolutely negative answer he gave his servants.

He closed the door to his room firmly behind him and made his way to the small table that held the rose and the mirror. The rose was still in bloom, showing no signs yet that it was wilting, but the Beast knew it was only a matter of time. Before he could think too hard about it, the Beast snatched the mirror from the table.

"Show me the nearest village," he demanded. The mirror glowed green and cleared to show him a cobblestone street brimming with peasants going about their daily lives. He tried to watch the people as they passed by, but it was too crowded. The Beast was about to put the mirror down when he caught the image of a colored dress passing through the crowds.

"Follow that girl," he commanded the mirror, though he wasn't sure if the mirror would perform such a task. The mirror complied however, gliding through the crowds until he could clearly see the girl in a green dress. She wasn't alone; there were two other girls with her, all with long blonde hair and all wearing different shades of the same dress. Triplets. Surely one of them could be useful to him. But then he noticed a muscular man, perhaps around his own age, in a red leather jerkin standing quite close to the girls. Though the Beast had not been around humans in seven years, he could clearly tell that this man was showing off to the triplet girls and they were obviously infatuated with him. The Beast grimaced as he watched the girls practically faint in the presence of this man and knew that he would never be able to endure such mindlessness.

He commanded the mirror to show him another village close by, and another, and another. None of them showed him any girls he found interesting enough to risk leaving his castle for. Unless they were cloistered away in their houses or traveling somewhere between the villages, there were no girls that seemed appropriate for him. He placed the mirror back on the table and went to find solace amongst the rooftops. He knew it was a foolish idea to look in the villages for someone to break the spell. No one would ever come to free him from his prison; the Enchantress was merely taunting him by letting him think there was a possibility of escape from this horrible form. It was ridiculous of him to even think it possible.

* * *

Belle's POV

"Looks like we'll have to camp out again," Papa said as the day began to fade. "I thought we'd be able to make it to the next village by now."  
"That's all right, Papa," Belle said. "It looks like it will be a clear night. And it's summer now, so the nights are much warmer."

"Amazing how much the weather changes in a week, eh?" he replied as he pulled the wagon to the side of the road and unhitched Philippe from the wagon. "Why don't you see what we've still got for food and I'll brush Philippe out."

Belle went to do what her father asked, making what meal she could out of the remaining food they had bought from the last village. They were trying to save as much money as they could, unsure of what the asking price would be for the cottage they headed towards. As a result they were running a bit low on their supply of food, but the village was only one more day away according to Papa. This time tomorrow, Belle and her father might be sitting by the fireplace of their new home. The thought was somehow thrilling; they had only been traveling for a few weeks which was much less than Belle had feared, and though she knew she would have much harder time finder her adventures, she was just as glad to have the prospect of somewhere permanent to live at last.


	14. Chapter 14

Belle's POV

"It's in good shape," the man with the thick red beard told them as he led Belle and her father over a short bridge towards a small cottage. "The folks who left it kept it in good condition, so you won't have much to do 'cept clean it a bit."

"Well, that's convenient. Looks good from the outside, at least. What do you think, Belle?" Papa asked her. Belle turned her focus from the village behind her to the small cottage before her.

"I think it's charming, Papa," she said honestly. It was like a cottage from a fairy tale, tucked away on the outskirts of the village. It was small, but much bigger than the last apartment in the city had been and certainly larger than all the rooms at the inns they had stayed in. There was plenty of land and even a grove of trees nearby; Belle was already picking out nooks to read in.

"You want to see the inside before you decide?" the man asked disinterestedly, motioning a large hand towards the door.

"Why not? Papa said. The man led them towards the front door but his sigh did not escape Belle's ears. It was clear that this man had other things he'd rather be doing than showing an old man and a girl around a house. Even so, he opened the door for them and let them walk in first.

"Main room, kitchen, two bedrooms upstairs," he said, pointing in different directions as he spoke. "Basement entrance is out front, and there's a bit of space for some small animals. You'd probably want to build a better shelter for your horse."

"Of course," Papa agreed. "I think we'll take it! If you like it, Belle." Belle smiled and nodded as enthusiastically as she could in response to her father's question, but was more intent on examining this new house. So while Papa and the redheaded man went outside to discuss payment, Belle remained inside.

There wasn't any furniture, which made the house seem stark and unwelcoming, but Belle did her best to imagine it furnished. There was a fireplace at the far side of the small room directly opposite from the front door and to the right of that was a charming window seat Belle intended to make good use of. To the right of the fireplace was a doorway that led into the kitchen. When Belle briefly explored it, she noticed it was equipped with a stove and a few cupboards, but otherwise was just as bare as the first room.

Belle made her way upstairs to look briefly in the two bedrooms. The doorway to the first was on her right as she reached the landing and the other doorway was one step further straight in front of her. They seemed about equal size, each one twice as large as her room in their last apartment. Each room contained a bed frame standing empty, but naught much else.

They were nearly identical to each other, but where the first bedroom had a window that looked out towards the town, the second bedroom faced out onto the wild fields that grew behind the house. Belle stepped further into the second room and opened the window so she might lean on the its sill, mesmerized by what she saw. The fields seemed to go on forever, lined by trees on each side. With the clear blue summer sky above the fresh green grass, Belle's imagination ran wild with fairy tales.

"Belle?" Papa's voice broke into her thoughts.

"Up here, Papa," she called, turning from the window and listened to him climb the steps.

"What do you think?" he asked as he came into view through the open door.

"It's very nice," she said.

"Nice view, anyway," he added, motioning out the window. "Do you think you can see yourself living here?"

"I think so. We'll need some furniture though," she said with humor. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to live here, but the house was nice enough and the area was beautiful. If she was to live in the country, it might as well be here.

"That might be helpful," Papa chuckled in response. "So it's all right I've paid the man for the house?"

"Definitely," she said, unable to help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of her father's excitement.

"Well, what are we waiting for! We've got work to do if we're going to be able to live here." Belle giggled and agreed, so together they set about finally unloading the wagon into their new home.

It took the rest of the day to move most of their things into the house, and even so there was not enough daylight to organize them into their respective rooms. So their boxes and bags merely piled up in the main room, awaiting the morning sun to be sorted. Any dignity she had was forgotten in her exhaustion forgotten and Belle collapsed on the floor, leaning against one of the trunks to keep her upright. For the first time she could truly imagine how Odysseus must have felt after his own long journey finally ended.

"I say we just eat what we've got left over from the trip and start fresh tomorrow," her father suggested, joining her on the floor with a heavy sigh. Belle agreed, not having the energy to sustain the inevitable curious stares from the villagers at the sight of someone new in town.

"It seems strange to think we won't be traveling any more," she commented as she waited for the strength to stand and fetch the food.

"It does, doesn't it. What was it, about three weeks we were on the road?"

"Just about. Well, we were in one place for a week while you worked at that bakery, but that still feels like traveling," Belle replied. Was it really only three weeks ago that they left the city? Belle felt as if they had been traveling forever; she might as well have been an old woman for how tired she felt.

"Agreed. But see, I told you we'd be settled down somewhere before your birthday. I had a week to spare!"

"And I'm very grateful for that," she said honestly.

"I can't believe you'll be sixteen years old in just a few days," he said, his cheery mood dwindling as he spoke.

"Oh, Papa," she sighed, smiling as she finally stood to kiss her father's cheek and set about gathering the food that remained to make dinner for them.

* * *

Beast's POV

"What now?" he bellowed as he landed on the balcony of the West Wing. He could hear his servants calling him from inside the castle, even above the wind that raged among the rooftops. It was precarious staying up there in such weather, but the Beast didn't care. If he fell, who would know? Only his servants. His servants, who apparently could not wait for him to come down in his own time.

"I-I'm sure you've noticed, Master," Cogsworth started as nervously as ever. The Beast knew he wasn't helping matters by looming over the mantel clock that had once been his major domo, but such a thing could not much be helped. "There's a storm coming and I'm afraid. . . quite afraid that parts of the roof may not hold up against it. Last time it rained, several rooms were leaking."

"And?" he demanded.

"And. . .well. . .I, that is. Would you be able to fix parts of the roof before the storm hits? I'm afraid that otherwise the rooms would be quite ruined."

"So what?" he growled, turning away to stare out beyond the balcony at the growing clouds.

"Master, the castle will be destroyed if we do not maintain it. Few of us are able to get onto the roof to do it ourselves." The Beast listened to Cogsworth, but could not understand why he might want try to keep the already crumbling castle from falling into further disrepair. What was the point?

"Now? You're asking this of me _now_?" he growled, almost a roar as he motioned a paw towards the oncoming storm. He was expected not only to fix the roof, but to do it minutes before a storm?

"But Master, the castle—if we don't do something now several rooms will suffer in the storm. It won't be long before floors and ceiling cave in and walls weaken, then we can no longer live in the castle. Where will we all go when it falls?"

He had a point, the Beast grudgingly admitted to himself. He had no wish to be driven out of his castle, his only shelter, to live in the forest like the beast he was. Three short years remained before the rose would begin to wilt and he had no plans to spent his life, human or Beast, in a collapsed castle or wild forest. But that did not negate the fact that he had no idea how to fix anything, especially a roof. He was clearly the only one physically capable of performing such a task, so he really had no choice.

"Fine," the Beast grunted. "Fetch me what I need and I'll do it." He was not looking forward to struggling on the rooftops during such a high wind, but if what Cogsworth said was true, rooms would be ruined if he didn't see to it before the storm hit. Though _why_ this situation couldn't be reported to him sooner, he didn't know. He waited impatiently as the minutes ticked by, pacing the balcony as the wind whipped at his fur.

The storm was getting closer; he would have to work quickly and fix only the worst parts for now.

Cogsworth returned with a hopping toolbox in tow. The Beast rolled his eyes; now he'd have to worry about losing the toolbox over rooftops, too. According to Cogsworth though, the hammer inside had memories of working on the rooftop and would help the Beast any way he could. The Beast shook his head at the idea of asking help from a _hammer_, an object that should be all means lay still and silent.

"Very well," he grunted. "Where are these holes?" Cogsworth gave him several locations of the rooms where leaking had been found. Having spent years now exploring the rooftops, the Beast understood where these holes might be. Without another word, the Beast took firm hold on the large toolbox and leapt out onto the balcony to make his way to the nearest leak.

"Well?" he demanded when he had reached the first rift in the roof. It didn't appear to be too badly damaged, but some tiles were missing. In response to his growl, the hammer hopped out of the toolbox and began examining the gap. It slipped once as a particularly fierce gust of wind blew him over, but the Beast caught it and impatiently replaced it. When it recovered itself, the hammer proceeded to instruct the Beast on what needed to be done.

The toolbox was large enough to contain what was needed, so the Beast had to only reach in and follow the instructions the hammer relayed to him. When the first hole was patched to the hammer's satisfaction, the Beast moved on to the second and the third, all the while swallowing his pride long enough to allow the repair work to get done. Besides, if he paid attention to what the hammer said now, the Beast would not need to suffer the indignity of being instructed by his inferior again.

The parts of the roof Cogsworth told him about were mended, and not a moment too soon. As the hammer hopped back inside the safety of his toolbox, a blinding flash of lightning struck the trees in the forest, followed quickly by a great roll of thunder that shook the rooftops. As quickly as he could, the Beast scrambled down the tiles towards the nearest balcony. The West Wing was too far to reach safely now, so he had to make do with another. Lightning flashed a second time, closer than before. Just as the Beast reached the edge of the roof, the rain began to fall in sheets. The roof quickly became slippery, but his paws managed it well and he was able to make it onto the balcony beneath him. By the time he forced the stubborn glass doors with its stiff hinges to give way, his fur and cloak were soaked through.

He put the toolbox down and shook himself, spraying droplets of water everywhere. He straightened up to make his way back to the West Wing, but stopped short when he realized where he had ended up. This was his childhood room, the room he had left behind after his father had abandoned him when he was eight years old.

Nothing had changed since he had ordered it shut; the sheets were still on the bed, his old toys still spilling over the edge of the open toy chest. He had been so adamant that no one should enter the room, not even to tidy it up. He had his sister's room shut up the same way, and it was only by some small bit of luck that he had not jumped on that balcony instead. The East Wing had belonged to his parents, so he had the servants close that too and ordered the West Wing prepared as his new quarters. Though Mrs. Potts insisted that he was too young to have an entire wing to himself, there was no talking him out of it.

As a boy, he could not stand the sight of the room where his mother had read him stories, where he had played with his sister; now as a Beast he found it no easier to bear. What would they think of him now to see him as this monster?

As he glanced around the room covered with a thick layer of dust and neglect, he found it difficult to breathe. He clutched his chest with his paw as he stared wide-eyed at a room belonging to another time. It was difficult to remember that he had once been human, that he had played and slept in this room, that he once had a mother and sister who cared for him. His sister might have loved him; she was young enough not to have fallen under their father's withering stare that she might have still believed in love. He wasn't sure about his mother, though. She had cared for him and acted as a mother should, even teaching him to play the piano as a way to calm his anger, but he felt there was always something missing from her eyes when she looked at him.

A stirring sound within the toolbox on the floor brought him back to the present in a rush. He scooped the box into his paw and fled from the room, slamming the door behind him before the ghosts of his past could follow him. The Beast made his way as swiftly as he could towards the West Wing, letting the toolbox roll out of his paw at the base of the staircase to let it hop its way back to wherever it came from.

He rained heavy blows upon the already badly broken furniture in the West Wing, but it was not enough. He felt as though he was choking on the memories that had been so forcibly thrust upon him. He roared, attempting to free his throat from the emotion that threatened to close it up, but that did no good either. The Beast continued to roar in his agony, ripping curtains and linens, tearing apart furniture and rugs. But nothing he did eased the bitter, painful sorrow of a life that had been taken away from him.


	15. Chapter 15

Belle's POV

Belle rose the next morning confused for a moment where she was. But the memory of purchasing the small cottage the day before came back to her as she eased further into consciousness and smiled at the thought of no more travel. She rose from her bed of blankets and prodded the fire beside her back into life so she might make some tea and wash her face before she and Papa would go into town. She looked a few feet over to see Papa still sleeping, so she crept about quietly to give him a few more minutes to rest, going to the kitchen to change quickly. Papa had done enough for her, giving her the space closest to the fireplace to sleep. She could at least leave him alone for a few more minutes.

Once she was groomed well enough (what she really wanted was a bath, but she hadn't the time, the energy, nor the tub to do so), she finally woke her father. "Morning already?" he asked groggily when he woke. "I slept like the dead, I was so tired." Belle smiled in sympathy and helped her father fold the blankets up again, depositing them in an open box that waited nearby. Papa splashed his face with some water Belle had left out, went into the kitchen as she had to change his clothes, and declared himself ready to face a new village.

"Should be quite an adventure, shouldn't it? Exploring our new home," Papa said as he gathered some coin to buy new mattresses and other necessities. He had already declared his intentions to build their furniture himself, but he needed to buy the wood to do so. Belle nodded, but did not agree. An adventure was exploring a new world, battling dragons or something of the like. But it would be interesting, and she was excited to see if the bookstore Papa had promised was still in business. It had been far too long since Belle had gotten a book of her own and now that they had a bit of money, perhaps she might buy a second hand one.

Though she should really save the money for a new dress. The one she wore from day to day was too small for her now, even with the several inches she added to the length. She was growing in more than height, and no patch work she knew how to do would remedy that.

"Ready?" Papa asked, motioning towards their front door.

"Ready," she confirmed and summoned her courage for the curious stares of these strangers who were to become her neighbors.

Together, they made their way over the small bridge towards the village and Belle took in the new sights with curiosity, trying not to think too bitterly about the adventures she had lost. They strolled down the main street, taking in the shops and stalls selling their goods. There was a bakery on one corner, inside Belle could see a plump middle-aged woman kneading dough while arguing with an equally plump man with a thick beard. Papa stopped there, suggesting they buy a couple of fresh rolls for their breakfast. But catching the attention of the arguing pair proved a difficult task.

"Pardon? Pardon, monsieur!" Belle called loudly over the half door.

"You silly sod, there's customers waiting for you," the woman said to her husband with a smack of her floured hand on his shoulder.

"Bonjour mademoiselle et monsieur," the baker said with gusto. "What can I do for you?"

"Just a couple of fresh rolls, if you please," Papa said. The baker turned to bark the order at his wife before returning his attention to the two of them.

"You're new here, aren't you?" the baker asked with a kind smile. "Visiting?"

"Just moved here," Papa replied. "Up in the cottage just outside of town."

"Oh, how nice. That place has been empty for so long now, it'll be good to see someone liven it up again," the baker's wife said, coming up with the rolls they had requested.

"Marie, the bread is burning!" the baker shouted. Marie gave him another little smack with the towel she had been wiping her hands on before rescuing the loaves of bread from the massive oven.

"Well, I hope to be seeing you around more often. . ." he paused, clearly expecting their names.

"Maurice," Papa said. "And this is my daughter, Belle."

"Well, Maurice. Belle. It's very nice to meet you. No, no, first timers on the house," the baker insisted when Papa held out the money for the rolls.

"Thank you, sir," Papa said with a grateful nod. They continued through town, Belle encouraged by this first interaction to continue to face the odd looks she received from the townspeople. As they dodged carts and people going about their business, Belle took in the tidy homes and businesses with the shop signs, the people bustling about their business with curious glances towards the unfamiliar pair. It was interesting to watch them haggle and bargain and chatter amongst each other. Though quite similar things occurred in the city, it was different here with people carrying about pigs and herding goats through the streets.

"You never see so many animals in the streets of Paris," her father commented merrily. Belle giggled in agreement, but was distractedly looking for the bookstore Papa said might be in town.

"I've got to go see about the price of lumber just up the road here," her father said, drawing her attention back on him. "Why don't you find what you're not so subtly looking for and I'll meet you by the town's fountain in about an hour."

"Thank you, Papa," she said with an appreciative smile and went off exploring.

She was examining the shop signs as she went; some had both wording and images carved into their surfaces to indicate what services they offered. Still more had only pictures, which did not give Belle much hope to the literacy of the village. Perhaps the bookshop went out of business if many of the shops could not even bother to carve their names into their signs.

As she was examining the signs above the business doors, she was nearly knocked off her feet as she ran into something very solid. When she recovered her balance, she looked up to see that she had accidently bumped into a rather large man. He wore a red leather jerkin which exposed rather alarmingly large arms and had a quiver of arrows strapped around a very broad, muscular chest. Once she was able to look passed the sheer size of him, she met the cold blue eyes of a handsome face with black hair tied back.

"Excuse me," she said, dropping her eyes to be on her way. It would be a lie to say that she was not flustered by the way that handsome man had been looking at her, but she wasn't sure she liked it just the same.

"Wait," he said, coming around to block her path again. She stopped and waited politely for him to speak. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"I am. My father and I just moved here yesterday," she confirmed.

"You are _very_ beautiful," he said with a wide grin.

"Thank you," she said quickly and stepped around him as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. She never liked being told that, especially by handsome young men with cold, leering blue eyes. But perhaps he had mistranslated her blush as her being flattered by him, for he stepped in front of her for a third time.

"Did you need something?" she asked, losing patience. All she wanted was to find the bookshop, not do this odd little dance in the middle of the street.

"Don't you know who I am?" he asked, obviously expecting her to be more impressed with him.

"I did only move here yesterday," she reminded him.

"Gaston is the best guy in the village!" another voice chimed in. Belle whirled around to find a funny little man behind her, clearly trailing her has the taller man had been blocking her path. "He's the strongest, the best hunter, the best fighter. . .Why, everyone_ loves_ Gaston!" he declared with gusto. Belle raised one eyebrow and turned back to the taller man who had crossed his arms and looked down at her smugly.

"How nice for you," was all she said before going on her way once more.

"Wait just a minute," the man, Gaston, said and took hold of her arm. It wasn't a tight hold, but Belle could feel the strength in his fingers. "No one just walks away from Gaston!"

"Apparently I do," she replied, keeping her voice even though her patience was waning thin. "Please let go of my arm, I have things to do."

"Tell me your name and I'll let go," he bargained. Belle glanced down from the sausage-like fingers wrapped around her forearm to the blue eyes of this stranger and sighed.

"Belle," she conceded. He would probably find out her name sooner or later, but letting him get the better of her left her with a bad taste in her mouth.

"Well, Belle. I have a feeling I'll be seeing a lot more of you," Gaston said, releasing her arm as promised.

"Well, I do live here now, so I'll just have to deal with that I suppose," she said and turned march away. It was clear this Gaston fellow was going to be a bit of a problem for her, but she was confident she would be able to keep him at arm's length.

It didn't take her much longer to locate the bookshop; fortunately it was still in business despite her fears. The top half of the split door was open to the summer air, so she undid the latch to the lower half and listened as a cheerful bell rang through the small shop. It was a small shop, only three or four bookshelves filled the tiny space but nearly all of them were completely filled. Unable to suppress the smile that crept across her lips, Belle went to the shelves and ran her hand along their spines, reading the names printed there as she did. There were novels and collections of poems, books of history and science, and even a few of the Greek myths. There weren't many of any genre, but she was impressed a village this far from any city would have such variety.

Picking out a novel she had not yet heard of, Belle began reading the first few pages. As she dove into the book, she sunk down until she sat on the floor between the bookshelves. The store was quiet, so she was left undisturbed for quite some time.

"What are you doing?" a voice broke into her story, causing her to jump in fright. She looked up to find an older man with messy white hair looming over her.  
"I—reading, sir," she replied, nearly laughing at the memory of being scolded by another shopkeeper in a different village.

"Hardly anyone ever comes in here, never mind young girls like you."

"Then, with all due respect, how to you keep up your shop here?" Belle asked and was relieved to see the man smile at her.

"Allow a wealthy, retired old man his hobbies, won't you?" he asked with humor and extended a hand down to help her stand. "What did you find?" Belle obligingly held the book out to him so he could read the title. "Well, I had hoped it wasn't a recipe book that was holding your attention like that," he said with an approving nod and handed the book back to her. Belle took the book back, trying to decide whether to be insulted or not.

"I happen to be very fond of books," she decided to say to him, unable to help being just a little offended by the quip about the cookbook. "I suppose recipe books are rather useful, but I've had more interest in other things. I've read Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Homer, Grimm and hundreds of other fairy tales, not to mention countless novels and plenty of books about science, philosophy, and history. I love books almost more than my own being," she said resolutely, folding her hands over her book almost protectively.

"I must say, young lady, that is very refreshing for this tired old man to hear," he said and Belle sighed in relief. She was worried he might take what she said badly, but instead it seemed he approved of it.

"You've just moved into the cottage outside of town, haven't you?" he asked conversationally.

"Yes," she confirmed. "My name is Belle and I came with my father, Maurice. My father is out trying to find lumber to build some new furniture with. The old tenant did not leave us with much."  
"Trying to save your money building it yourself," he nodded understandingly. "Your father can do all that, though?"

"Oh, yes. He's quite a skilled carpenter. He's worked as one nearly all my life, but he'd much rather be working on his inventions," she replied.

"Ah, an inventor is he? Well we do get quite a few fairs in the area that promote that sort of thing. Some of them even give prizes."

"Thank you, monsieur," she replied, grateful for this knowledge. She was certain Papa would want to take full advantage of that.

"You know," the shopkeeper began. "If you like, you don't have to waste your time sitting on my dusty old floors. You may borrow what books you like and bring them back in exchange for others."

"That's not a very efficient way to run a business," she teased carefully. Though she wanted to very much, she tried not to hope that this man would allow her to borrow books as she had in the city.

"As I said before, I've already made my fortune. I'm partially retired now, running this small shop mostly to give myself a place to go every morning. I have no wife, no children, so why not spend the remainder of my life and my fortune surrounding myself with books in the quite country side? I can think of worse ways to go."

"What did you do before you moved here?" she inquired.

"Oh, this and that. Business transactions in Lyon, some gambles that have paid off," he replied, waving his hand to signify it was not important. But if it was enough to allow him to set up shop and maintain any semblance of a book selection out here, Belle very much doubted it was as unimportant as he made it seem.

"And you would really allow me to just _borrow_ your books?" she asked carefully.

"Well, let's start with one and if you return it in good condition I'll allow it to continue," he suggested. "Though I have a feeling I won't have to worry about you."

"You won't. I'll take good care of them, I promise," she said excitedly.

"Then I'll see you when you've finished that one, and mind you tell me what you thought about it," the shopkeeper insisted. Belle promised easily and left to meet her father, clutching her borrowed book close. She was sorely tempted to continue reading where she had been interrupted, but she didn't know the streets well enough yet to ensure she wouldn't run into trouble. As soon as she reached the fountain that stood in the center of the village however, Belle sat on the low wall that surrounded it and dove back into her book. Too soon though, she was interrupted from her book a second time.

"Well, if it isn't the new girl," someone said and Belle looked up in time to see the same Gaston fellow sit himself down next to her. Close by, his strange little friend was watching.

"Hello," she said before returning to her book, doing her best to ignore him. She had enough of his persistent, arrogant behavior for one day.  
"What are you doing?" he asked, peering over her shoulder at her book.

"Reading," she replied.  
"Why?" he asked, sounding completely astonished by this information. Belle sighed; she should have know that this man would be one of the many who did not understand the pleasure of reading.

"Because I like it," she replied simply and closed her book with a sharp snap. "Was there something you wanted?"

"I just don't like seeing pretty girls being left alone the way you were," he insisted, acting as though he was doing her a favor by joining her.

"How thoughtful," she replied with a slightly sarcastic tone in her voice. "I believe those girls over there are trying to get your attention though," she said, pointing to three blonde girls, obviously triplets, who were huddled together staring at them.

"Oh, don't mind them," he insisted with a dismissing wave of his hand. "You're the one I'd like to talk to."

"Am I? How nice." She looked around his muscles to look for her father, hoping he would come and rescue her from this unwanted attention. "Who is your friend here?" she asked, noticing again Gaston's short shadow.

"Lefou," Gaston answered shortly, disinterested.

"L—really?" Belle was astonished that a man could be called a fool as his _name_.

"What's wrong with that?" Belle raised an eyebrow, but realized nothing she said would matter to this man. He was smug and cocky, clearly disinterested in the feelings of anyone else. It was clear behind his handsome face that he thought very highly of himself.

"There you are, Belle," Papa called at last. Belle sighed in relief, and dodged around Gaston's solid bulk with little more than a 'goodbye.' "I see you've already got a book in hand. Who's your friend there?"

"He's not a friend," she muttered. "How did you make out?" she asked, taking her father's arm and leading him away from the fountain where she had left Gaston.

"Not bad," he replied. "We've got what we need so we don't have to sit on the floor for long, mattresses and cushions, and I've even picked up a couple of goats and chickens."

"Well, we'll be living like kings it sounds like. We had money for all that?" she remarked.

"Enough. Things are cheaper here than they were in the city. I've also found a bit of a job in town so we can keep some spending money. I'd like to retire in a year or two if I can, though."

"Heaven knows you deserve it, Papa," she replied and gave a gentle squeeze of his arm. "Oh, that reminds me, the bookkeeper in town mentioned that there are often fairs that come in the area that have contests for inventions. Many of them win prizes. I thought that might be something you'd be interested in."

"Well, you thought right. I'll have to keep an eye out for those," he said and Belle could see the excitement at the very idea of it. His inventions would be able to be seen, and perhaps even be successful enough to give them a new life. They would be very comfortable here it sounded like, but that didn't mean Belle couldn't dream of other worlds.


End file.
